


Knight and Pawn

by AuburnRed



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Adoption, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Family, Friendship, Gen, Homelessness, Mental Health Issues, Orphans, Parent-Child Relationship, Single Parents, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnRed/pseuds/AuburnRed
Summary: After a tragic car accident, Freddie has to raise Florence and Anatoly's son. How will he cope with becoming a single father to a pre-teen? How will the two live together when they are both coming apart at the seams?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

Pawn and Knight  
A Chess-The Musical Fanfic  
By Auburn Red

Disclaimer: I created Gene, Garret, Sean, and Natalie. Everyone else belongs to Benny Andressen, Bjorn Ulvaeus, and Tim Rice  
Author's Note: I know very little about chess, so I am keeping game descriptions to a minimum. I am more interested in the psychology of what happens to young prodigies especially after their glory days are done.

Summary: A car accident leaves Freddie the guardian of Florence and Anatoly's son. How will Freddie cope with becoming a single father? How will the two live together when they are both coming apart at the seams?

Chapter One: The Herd

1984-Of all the questions Freddie Trumper had been asked, this had to be the worst. "Have you two snapped your caps entirely?" Was probably the kindest thing that he could say to the woman in the hospital bed, still clearly tired and messy from the delivery and to the man who was seated on the chair next to his wife. The man smiled a beaming smile as he held the screaming bundle in a blue blanket: the cause of all this commotion and what interrupted Freddie's usual routine of practicing chess, playing chess, drinking coffee, studying chess moves, and bed while dreaming about chess. "You're kidding right?"  
"No," Florence Vassy-Sergievsky said from her bed. "We want to know if you will be his godfather."  
"His godfather," Freddie repeated incredulously. "Why are you asking me of all people? Have you run out of more qualified serial killers?"  
"Freddie," Anatoly Sergievsky said patiently. "We are not asking you to raise him. We are only asking you to acknowledge him."  
Freddie looked closely at him then back at the couple. "There, I acknowledged him done!"  
"It is more than that," Anatoly said. "We are also asking you to take care of him should anything happen to us."

"Yeah it's the 'anything that happens to us' part I got a problem with,". Freddie said. "Come on I'm sure other people can do this better than me. What about Svetlana? She already has kids." Freddie referred to Anatoly's ex wife. The two divorced and married other people, but for their daughters's sake, the divorce remained cordial, even if they lived in countries that were on opposite sides of the Cold War.  
"We want him to remain in the United States," Anatoly said patiently "away from the Communists." Now, that Anatoly was finally able to defect and live in the U.S. with the woman he really loved, he had no intention of repeating those days with his newborn son now that the little boy had the chance to grow up free.  
"What about your father, Florence?" Freddie asked.  
"The same reason," Florence said. "Plus, I only just reunited with him in the past couple of years and I don't want to burden him with the responsibility."  
"Oh but you don't mind burdening me," Freddie said. "You know a pack of wolves have great parental instinct!"  
"Freddie," Florence corrected in that tone when she knew her former boyfriend and current close friend was often hiding what he really felt. "You'll do fine. Now do you want to hold him?" 

Freddie at first refused, but then he warily stuck out his hands. Anatoly gently laid the newborn in his hands telling him to keep his hand on the boy's head to balance him. Freddie held him as far away as possible.  
"Freddie, he's a baby, not a bomb," Florence said.  
"Yeah well this is how I would hold either one," Freddie said. He slowly drew the newborn closer and looked straight at him.  
The baby looked up at this stranger with big blue eyes that clearly said "who?" His eyes were wide and wondering. His mouth hung open and shut. This little one fascinated Freddie. Here was this little thing, a blank slate, an empty page with no experience, no memories good or bad, no cynicism. At that moment he was perfect.  
Freddie smiled at the newborn whose mouth turned upward and smiled back. "So the little guy got a name?"  
"We are calling him Eugene Gregor Frederick Vassy-Sergievsky," Florence answered.  
"Eugene or Yevgeny for my father and Gregor for Florence's," Anatoly replied. "And of course Frederick for our closest friend and his godfather, if he wishes to be."  
Freddie's eyes shone touched at the tribute but couldn't resist a comment.  
"So Gene then," Freddie said realizing what a mouthful the whole name would be.

There was a quiet moment as Freddie continued to hold the little one until Gene's face scrunched up and he began to cry. Instantly, Freddie panicked. "What'd I do? What'd I do? Get him off! Get him off!"  
Anatoly gently took the newborn out of his godfather's hands and put him back in his mother's. Florence unbuttoned her hospital gown and let Gene suckle on her breast.  
Anatoly and Freddie exchanged smiles at this tender moment between mother and baby.  
"So will you?" Florence asked.  
Freddie shrugged. "Yeah sure, why not. Just do me a favor."  
"What?" Florence asked.  
"Never die," Freddie said. "Agree that you will live forever."  
Anatoly and Florence laughed. "Sure Freddie, anything you say." Florence said sarcastically.

1995-Thr can pulled into the affluent Nassau County neighborhood. Freddie paid the cab driver and exited by the garage behind the two new cars. He picked up the birthday present as the cab drive away. The white house in front of him looked like all the others with it's finally cut lawn, rows of flowers underneath the window, and the two-door garage. It was so suburban America that it made Freddie gag.  
A blur in the shape of an eleven year old boy on a blue ten-speed bike whizzed by before stopping in front of the house. "Hi Uncle Freddie," Gene Vassy-Sergievsky greeted his godfather with a big warm hug. Gene had his father's fair curly hair but his mother's dark intellectual eyes and warm round features. He was a very lanky young boy, bright, optimistic, outgoing, and highly intelligent. Freddie normally kept away from kids, but his godson was an exception. He adored the little guy and treated him like a favorite kid brother.

"Hi Geno," Freddie said returning the hug.  
"Look what Mom and Dad got me!" He announced looking at the bike.  
"It looks great," Freddie said.  
"They also got me a Super NES and Link's Awakening. Want to play it with me later?" Gene asked.  
"Hey it's your birthday, so why not," Freddie asked. He wasn't interested in video games but he enjoyed hanging out with his godson. "I guess with that loot, you don't need this." Freddie pretended to hold onto the wrapped present as if to take it back.  
"No I want it," Gene said. He ripped open the present and gasped with delight at the new soccer ball. "Oh wow, this is what I wanted! Thanks Uncle Freddie!"  
"Anytime, Kiddo," Freddie said. "Where are your folks?"  
"They're inside," Gene said leading his godfather into the house. He called, "Mom, Dad, Uncle Freddie is here and look what he got me!"

Freddie trailed the young boy and faced the smiling couple who rose to greet their visitor. "Knock knock Florence," Freddie playfully knocked on the inside door. "It's the man you wished you married."  
Florence rose and hugged her male friend. "Like you would have ever wanted to marry me. I don't even remember the subject ever coming up."  
"It was implied," Freddie teased. He then greeted Anatoly who gave the small American a big bear hug. "Get your hands off me, you crazy Russian." Freddie laughed.  
"That is crazy American citizen to you," Anatoly replied with a laugh.  
"Right, right I forgot," Freddie said. "You actually wanted to live here." Anatoly Sergievsky took the Immigration Citizenship Exam and had finally received his official citizenship status the previous year. It was a proud moment for himself, his wife, and son.  
"Hey Uncle Freddie can I show you some of the passes that I learned with my new ball?" Gene asked.  
"Sure kid," Freddie said following his parents out the back door. 

The three adults sat on the patio furniture as the boy kicked the ball with his feet then kicked it towards the goal. His parents and godfather applauded.  
"Really good, honey," Florence called. "He enjoys playing with that soccer ball." She said to Freddie. "Thank you for getting it for him."  
"Yeah he does," Freddie said. "Hey Mom, why did I get him a soccer ball?"  
"Because I asked you to and because he wanted it," Florence reminded him.  
"But why did he want one?" Freddie asked.  
"Because he joined the Hawks soccer team this past semester," Anatoly said referring to Gene's school team. "He wanted to practice at home during the summer."  
Freddie shook his head as though they told him that Gene had become a juvenile delinquent. "My own godson has become a jock. I will never live down the shame. Why couldn't I have gotten him a chess set?"  
"Because he's not interested in chess," Florence answered matter of factly.  
Freddie gasped mockingly. "I have no godson," he said mimicking the rabbi father in The Jazz Singer.  
"We tried playing it with him, and he likes it but he likes other things better," Anatoly replied. "He has other interests."  
"There's more to life than chess, Freddie," Florence pointed out.  
Freddie clutched his heart pretending like he was wounded. "I am going to pretend that you did not say that. I don't know who you two are anymore." Florence and Anatoly rolled their eyes and suppressed a grin at their friend's melodramatic gestures.

"Is this 'more to life than chess' the reason why you haven't enrolled Gene in the Advancement Enrichment program classes in the brochures that I sent you?" Freddie asked.  
The married couple exchanged glances. "Wait aren't those the papers that we threw away?" Anatoly asked.  
"I think so," Florence replied. "Freddie we have been over this. We don't want him to join those programs."  
"Why not?" Freddie asked. "His I.Q. test showed that he's a genius level. He has made all A's since Kindergarten. The kid's got a lot of special qualities. He's a genius kid and you don't want to show that."  
"Yes he's a genius," Florence said. "But he's also a kid and that's what we want him to be. A normal well-adjusted happy kid with friends, and school, and activities."  
"Well he's not a normal kid," Freddie said. "Not with adults like us around. He inherited your brains and it's about time he showed that. Gene has more potential than to be one of the herd out here in suburbia like every other kid from every other family."  
"You know Freddie," Anatoly said evenly. "You may scoff at our life out here in Long Island, but there are many who would long for a life like this with the big house and yard and two cars. God knows that I did. There are some who would give anything to have a life like this."  
"I would have given anything for someone to notice my genius at his age," Freddie said. Florence knew. Freddie was ignored by his disappeared father and his mother who cared more about her boyfriends than the chess prodigy that she gave birth to. It took Freddie moving out and revealing his own talents to the world for his genius to be recognized.  
"We understand that Freddie," Florence said. "But don't you remember how much pressure it was on us at that age? Don't you think that it had some negative consequences on us and who we became as adults?" She didn't add, especially you but Freddie knew that's what she meant. Honestly, Freddie didn't want that for Gene either: for him to become a socially awkward, lonely, obsessed, reclusive adult. For him to become Freddie Trumper: someone who can only find happiness vicariously through his married friends.  
"Remember '86 St. Louis?" Florence said.  
Freddie winced remembering the year that ended his professional chess career forever and led to his seclusion. "We don't want something like that to ever happen to Gene. Freddie, let Anatoly and I decide what's best for our son," Florence said.  
"Fine whatever," Freddie sighed realizing that this was a losing battle.

"Is that why you two stopped playing chess?" Freddie asked. "You wanted to be normal?"  
"We still play sometimes and we implement it in our lives," Anatoly reminded him. "I am working on that book on Game Theory in Mathematical Studies."  
"And I am writing a book on the strategies with political figures that I never would have thought of if I hadn't played chess," Florence said. Anatoly and Florence were professors in Mathematics and Political Science respectively at Long Island University but they never lost the lessons they learned from their days on the chessboard. "Anyway, you gave up on chess."  
"Hey, I didn't give up on chess," Freddie corrected. "Professional Chess gave up on me." Since '86, he thought. "I still play amateurishly, play against myself, and study the moves. It beats the tedium of work." Freddie worked in the Federal Depository, City Archives, and Records Department in Central Manhattan for the past seven years. It was a soul crushingly boring job, but it gave Freddie the anonymity that he craved. No one bothered him unless they needed to find a record or file and Freddie grew to memorize the entire contents much to the amazement of his co-workers, usually work study college students, and his boss, Dr. Simon Ledbetter. "It's still in my life, I am just not in the public getting paid for it." He nodded inside where he knew that a chessboard sat in the living room, just like his at his Manhattan apartment, set out with the most recent moves waiting for another round. "What say we find out who still knows the most about chess?"

Just then, Gene ended his one man soccer game. "Mom, Dad, what time is the cake ready?"  
Anatoly looked at his watch. "Actually, it's just about time for me to pick it up. It will be about an hour."  
"Okay, can I play Zelda until then?" Gene asked.  
Florence nodded. "Sure. I'll call you when it's ready."  
"'Kay, see ya Dad," Gene called as he tossed the ball up and down on his hands and flew inside. Anatoly waved goodbye at his son and stood up.  
Anatoly leaned down and kissed his wife on the lips. "I will be back soon. Bye, Vlozeblyulennaya, beloved."  
"Bye, Honey Dearest," Freddie impishly called back.  
"And Florence apparently," Anatoly said dryly.  
Florence laughed and shook her head. "See you later." She said.

Anatoly left and Freddie accompanied Florence into the house. He pointed at the chessboard. "Now, how about that game?"  
"Actually, Freddie, there is a favor that I need to ask you, well two of them," Florence said.  
Freddie's eyes widened as he walked closer to Florence, attempting a seductive grin. "What kind of favor and do we have to tell your husband?"  
"Actually, one of them was Anatoly's idea," Florence said.  
"Well he is getting broad minded," Freddie said coming closer. Florence put her hand on his chest to stop him. "Not that kind of favor, you moron."  
"Okay what then," Freddie asked.

"Okay the first one is," Florence began. "There's this girl that works at my department Lisa," Freddie rolled his eyes. He knew where this was going. "You'll like her, she's really nice and smart, single. She just moved into town. I thought maybe you would like to show her around."  
"Jesus, Florence," Freddie complained. "This is the fourth time that you and Anatoly have tried to set me up, second girl after two guys. What makes this one any different from the others?"  
"We thought maybe you might want to share a drink and get to know each other," she said. "It doesn't have to lead to anything."  
"No, here's what it will lead to," Freddie predicted. "I'll make some comment that will offend her or she will do something that I will find super annoying. We get into a fight and we go home in separate cabs. Man or woman, that's how it always ends."  
"Freddie, if you give somebody a chance, you might find that you like her or him," Florence suggested.  
"Florence you used to complain about having to fix my life when we were going out," Freddie said. "Now what, you're married and suddenly you want to fix it again."  
"Freddie, you're still my friend," Florence said. "I just don't want you to be lonely."  
"Hon, I'm not lonely okay, I go out.. sometimes," he said. "Florence, I am finally at the point where I like my life as it is. I go out, go to work, and do my thing. My apartment is arranged just the way I like it, clean with no messes. Everything is in it's right place. I don't have to be in the public, I can just hide away."  
"Manhattan is a really strange place to hide from the public," Florence said.  
"Actually, it's the best place to hide," Freddie objected. "You are one of over six million faces, just going off and minding your own business. Most people don't know or care who Freddie Trumper is or was. I'm not the type to be holed up in Iceland somewhere, so I hide out in plain sight."

Florence nodded realizing how Freddie changed from the glory seeking money hungry attention whore that he once was.  
These days, he went the opposite extreme: someone who hated publicity and guarded his privacy like a secret agent on assignment. No one broke through that wall of seclusion except Florence, Anatoly, and Gene and even they barely did. Florence supposed that's what that disastrous run in 1986 did to him.  
A few disasterous public appearances and interviews, quotes taken out of context and used by power hungry right wing fanatics as examples for their agenda, a savage losing streak, losing all his money to the unscrupulous Walter de Courcey, and a public nervous breakdown during his final match did that to him.  
Freddie could only get through that ordeal with Florence and Anatoly's care and friendship, but even they had their limits. After the breakdown, his best and only friends threatened that either he commit himself and get psychiatric help or he would never see his beloved then two year old godson again. That was the moment when Freddie realized how much Florence, Anatoly, and Gene grew to mean to him, that they could rescue him from the abyss and make him look at himself.  
Freddie Trumper's career transformed him from a plucky unknown, to a success story, to a hero, to a star, to a legend, to a villain, to a punchline, to a has-been, and finally to a recluse. Was it any wonder that Florence and Anatoly didn't want to see that happen to their son, to follow that same trajectory that Freddie jumped into feet first?

Freddie continued. "Look, Florence I kid you and Anatoly about your life out here in the 'burbs, but I'm happy for you. I really am. You are the King and Queen in your Rook and Castle. You got good jobs, a great kid, the big house, the friends, the shopping centers, the get togethers, the barbecues, PTA's, the nice circle of friends, the vacations in Montauk, and the cars that say 'I'm the Proud Parent of an Alexander Hamilton Middle School Honor Student.' After all, the Hell that you two have been through, you deserve it. You earned it. It's the America that you wanted and you got it. That's great and that's you. That's not me and it's never going to be. You have your lives and I got mine. I'm okay with just being a part of it, just the Knight who rides up on occasion."  
"You are, Freddie, you are a part of it and we're glad you are," Florence agreed. She gave him a quick hug which he returned. "Okay, I promise no more setting you up."  
"Thank you," Freddie gave a grateful dramatic sigh of relief.

"Actually, if he doesn't mind, the Knight has another task of which the Queen would like to ask a favor," Florence said.  
Freddie did a lavish bow. "Name the task, Your Majesty."  
"Something was bothering Gene yesterday and he didn't want to talk about it with us. He said that you might understand."  
"Does he need 'The Talk'", Freddie said. "Because I am beginning to forget the details."  
"His father already gave him that one," Florence said. "Gene specifically said that he wanted to talk to you, not us."  
Freddie turned around and headed for the stairs. "Time to do my godfatherly routine." He walked upstairs and knocked on Gene's door."Geno, it's Uncle Freddie." 

The door opened as Gene waved his godfather inside. Freddie stepped over the clothes, papers and other items spread out on the floor. He smirked as he saw the celebrity posters, mostly of Alternative bands that he never heard of. "Hey Kiddo, I think you said something about a game, Blink's Awakening?"  
Gene rolled his eyes. "Link's Awakening, it's a Legend of Zelda game," Gene said. He moved aside to make room on the bed for his uncle and handed him the other controller. He explained the object of the game and gave him basic instructions on which buttons to push.  
Freddie nodded at the character on the screen. "So that's Zelda?"  
"No," Gene said in a tone like that was a dumb question. "He's Link, the hero." He pointed at the female featured in the game book. "That's Zelda."  
"She's kind of pretty," Freddie said.  
"She's okay, I guess," Gene said. He looked at the screen. "But Link's my favorite character. He's brave, and heroic," Gene said that in such a way that if he were a girl, Freddie would have no doubt how Gene felt about the character.  
"And good looking?" Freddie prompted.  
"Yeah," Gene said. Then he realized that his godfather was listening. "I mean no!" Freddie nodded, understanding that Gene was nervous and uncertain about his sexuality. Freddie had been there and now realized that while he had sexual feelings for men and women, now, he wasn't interested in either which also contributed to his current dateless life.

The two continued to play as Freddie encountered his first battle. "Okay now die you little monsters! No out of the way, you stupid fairy no one cares what you have to say! I got ya, you little bastards!" He threw down the controller as Link lay on the ground. "Ah, the agony of defeat!"  
"Good game, good game," Gene said sarcastically.  
"Alright, you're so smart you do it then," Freddie said. Gene grinned and opened his file taking out the monster and two others afterwards giving his godfather an arrogant winning grin worthy of Freddie Trumper's godson.  
Freddie sniffed contemptuously. "Well, I cleared the way for you."

They played a bit more when Freddie tapped on the edge of the controller. "So, Geno, your Mom said something was bugging you and you wanted to talk to me."  
"Yeah, um," Gene said. "Well, you and Mom used to be a thing right?"  
"Well yeah about a hundred years ago when we played chess with Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War," Freddie joked. "I'm not sure but I think slavery was a big issue then."  
"I'm serious," Gene said.  
"Well yeah we were a couple," Freddie said.  
"How do you feel about each other now?" Gene asked.  
"Uh well um, I don't know why you're asking but we're still good friends, but I don't know but she's more like a sister to me now. In a way, she always was more like a sister than a girlfriend. I just never realized it before we went to Bangkok."  
"And Dad and Svetlana, what about them?" Gene asked.  
"I don't know, Gene," Freddie said. "I don't see them together often, but I guess they are still friends. If they loved each other, they'd still be married. Why are you asking so many questions?"  
Gene looked at the TV for a long time before answering. "Well Nathan, this kid at school, his parents got divorced and his father left him and his mother for another woman. And other kids' parents get divorced and-" 

Freddie nodded. "And you are afraid lightning strikes twice in the 'burbs? You want to know the signs from a kid whose folks split up?"  
Gene shrugged. "You are looking for signs like if your parents are interested in someone else rather than each other. Instead of asking your Dad, who's actually been through a divorce, you want to hear from your favorite neutral third party."  
Gene hesitated and then nodded. "What if it happens to me?"  
Freddie put his arm around the boy. "Do your parents fight a lot?"  
"No," Gene said. "I mean sometimes they argue about stuff like their theories or facts. Like they argued about some citation from their research and what it meant.."  
"Yeah that comes up often in divorce documents," Freddie teased.  
"This morning Dad was looking for his keys and Mom said that if they were hanging on the hook like they should be, he wouldn't have to be looking for them." Gene said.  
"Florence Vassey-Sergievsky, second in chess first in nagging," Freddie said sarcastically.  
"But he found them and they apologized later," Gene continued.  
"But they don't fight about big stuff like money or time spent with you or each other do they?," Freddie asked. "They don't throw things and call each other nasty names do they?"  
Gene shook his head. "No, in any language." Because of his parents' Russian and Hungarian background, Gene became fairly fluent in both languages though his Russian was much better. Hungarian was a lot harder.  
"You're not afraid to ask them for help or anything, I mean until now of course," Freddie asked. "They don't spend all day wrapped up in their own problems making you feel like it's your fault and you don't want to ask do you?" Just in case they said yes, Freddie thought bitterly.  
"No,"Gene said.

"There you are then see," Freddie said. "Geno, parents fight. Sometimes, they do get divorced but just because it happens to other kid's parents doesn't mean that it will happen to you. Believe me when my folks split up, they left no room for doubt."  
"But Nathan's parents barely fought and then one day, his dad just up and left," Gene said.  
"Look, Geno, I don't know this kid and I don't know his parents," Freddie said. "But I know yours. Believe me, the way your Mom and Dad look at and talk to each other. Well your Mom never did that for me. They still love each other, after all these years. They're not going to get divorced anytime soon." Gene was about to object. "You know what, let's assume, worst case scenario, that happens and they do get divorced. Your parents love you and they aren't the type that will put their needs over yours. They would try to make it as easy and as amicable as possible. Any of their plans would certainly include you and you would still be in their lives. Your dad still has Svetlana and his daughters in his life doesn't he?" Gene nodded. "There you are and they won't be any different. But I don't think it will happen with them. They love each other and you too much. They're sickening that way."  
Freddie made a face to make his godson laugh. "Thanks, Uncle Freddie."  
Freddie gave the boy a hug. "Anytime, Kiddo. It's what I am here for."

The two continued to play until they heard Florence's voice call out. "Your father's here with the cake," she called. Freddie and Gene abandoned the game and ran downstairs.  
Anatoly entered with a pink box in one hand. Florence delicately balanced the cake in her hands."You have it?" He asked his wife.  
"I got it," Florence said as her husband closed the door. The married couple looked at each other in the eyes and smiled lovingly for a moment. Freddie elbowed Gene as if to say see I told you so as Florence and Anatoly walked into the kitchen and lit the candles. Gene smiled as his parents and godfather sang "Happy Birthday to You."

At work, Freddie handed a probate file to the law student who asked for it. Dr. Ledbetter then placed a cardboard box filled with papers. "More from the Goldman Family Archives. I need you to sort, catalog, collate, and file these by Friday."  
"Sure thing boss," Freddie said with a flippant salute. He opened the box and glanced through the hundreds of papers. Over six million people in this city and they have to leave their junk with us, Freddie thought. He put on a pair of white gloves, took the box to a table, and opened the box. He glanced at the first file and marked the information on computer of who it was about, the date it was sent, the number of the file, and the summary of the content.

"I tell you he won't know," Freddie heard the voice of a brunette female student worker talking to another.  
"Sure he will, watch," the other one, a blond, said. "Hey Freddie,"  
Freddie barely looked up from his paperwork. One student worker, Darcy, had short wispy blond hair and a nose ring. The other, Kim, had brown hair cut in the Rachel style. Both of them wore spaghetti strapped tanks and tight jeans, apparently the standard work uniforn for the younger generation.  
"Student Worker," Freddie barely acknowledged Darcy. "Other Student Worker," he did the same to Kim. He knew their names but he maintained a reputation of being closed off, testy, and pompous. It kept people away from him.  
"Somebody called to find out the Dow report for six months before the Crash in '87," Darcy said. "What do I tell him?"  
Freddie rolled his eyes. Sometimes the student workers teased Freddie knowing how he memorized the contents of the archives. It became a game with them trying to trip him up. Even Dr. Ledbetter didn't know all of them.  
Freddie pointed at the files without looking up from his work. "Vertical file 43, Row Three, WSJ Book 1.87 and 2.8, Back Issues: January-June and July-August 1987, Second pages, first column down. You might also check NYT, Vertical File 12 Row 4, Book 98, Same months and year, Financial Section Pages 3, First column. If they want to see the trajectory of the stocks that actually fell in October, they're on Line 13-18 in the WSJ and 12-17 in NYT. Check the WSJ first. They're more accurate."  
Darcy headed right for the Wall Street Journal back issues and pointed the information out to her friend. Kim's eyes widened in surprise. "Amazing, how come you don't go on Jeopardy?" Kim asked.  
"Because Jeopardy is for morons," Freddie countered.  
The girls laughed and left to do their who knew what. Their Gen X things, Freddie guessed as he returned to his work. 

"Freddie," a voice called from the stairs. "You have a phone call from an Anthony Sergievsky."  
Because the Archives were in the lowest floor, a refurbished basement, phone reception was spotty at best so if any employees received a call, it had to come from the main office upstairs. "Anatoly, Rose," Freddie corrected. "Anatoly." He started, why would Anatoly call in the middle of the day? "Leave a message."  
"He says it's an emergency," Rose answered.  
"I'm coming," Freddie said.

Freddie practically leapt up the stairs and picked up the phone. "What line, Rose?"  
"Two," Rose answered.  
Freddie pressed the second line and shot back. "Anatoly, what is it? I'm in the middle of something."  
"Freddie," just the sound of his name made Freddie tense with apprehension. The normally unflappable calm former Russian sounded emotional and broken. "Come quickly, I need to see you right away."  
"Where are you?" Freddie asked.  
"South Oaks Hospital," Anatoly said.  
Freddie's heart leapt in his throat. "What happened?"  
Anatoly could barely be understood, he was so emotional and sounded in pain. "There was an accident with our car. It swerved to avoid other car and hit divider. Florence, Florence…" Anatoly couldn't finish, because he was so overcome.  
"Florence, what about Florence, Anatoly?" Freddie began to get hysterical.  
"Freddie just come," Anatoly begged.  
"Okay, I'm on my way," Freddie promised as he hung up the phone. He yelled to Dr. Ledbetter that there was an emergency and he had to take the afternoon off.

Freddie practically jetted through the hospital until he reached the reception desk. He was out of breath as he said, "I'm here for Anatoly Sergievsky."  
The nurse looked at her records and glanced at him. "Yes, he's in Intensive Care Room 17, down the hall to the right."  
"Thanks," Freddie said as he approached the room.

Freddie felt his heart stop as he saw his friend lay in the hospital bed tied to tubes. His face was cut and bruised and he was wearing a neck brace. He winced clearly in pain.  
"Anatoly," Freddie said.  
Anatoly's eyes opened and he faced his friend. "Freddie, you are here. I hoped that you would come before-"  
"How are you doing?" Freddie asked sitting in the chair across from his injured friend.  
"Under circumstances I have been better," Anatoly tried to joke.  
Freddie managed to smile. "Where's Florence?"  
Anatoly's eyes filled and his lip quivered. "She was killed instantly. She died on impact."  
Freddie couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?" He shook his head. His breath caught in his throat and he felt hollow. Anatoly's words echoed in his head. Florence Vassey, his best friend, former second, ex-lover, his sister by heart was dead? It just couldn't be possible.  
"She went instantly," Anatoly said trying to find some way to comfort his friend. "They said she probably suffered no pain."  
Freddie scoffed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"  
"It didn't make me feel better either when they told me," Anatoly agreed.  
"Dammit, you have two cars why were you in the same damn one?" Freddie asked.  
"We had problems with the steering wheel on Florence's car, so we carpooled with mine," Anatoly replied.

Anatoly then clenched in such pain that Freddie had to hold his hand to calm him down. "It's okay, Red, I'm here. What's happening?"  
"I have internal bleeding and hemmorhaging," Anatoly said.  
"Nurse, nurse!" Freddie yelled. "Dammit, why aren't they doing something for you, operating on you? Nurse!"  
When a nurse entered, Freddie started making commands. "Can't you see my friend is in pain, do something dammit!"  
"They already have," Anatoly said.  
Freddie sank back in the chair as the nurse explained that extensive surgery had already been done on Mr. Sergievsky and now the only thing that they can do is give him something to ease his pain in his final hours.

As the nurse left, Anatoly said. "This is the Endgame, Freddie and now I have one favor to ask."  
"What?" Freddie asked.  
"Take Gene," Anatoly asked. "Care for him, raise him. Be the father to him that I cannot."  
"I-I-won't have to," Freddie said. "You're going to get out of here. You and Florence-uh I mean you are getting out of here. Going back to the house in the 'burbs with the herd. You're going because that's who you are!"  
"No Freddie," Anatoly said. "Please do what I say, swear it!"  
Freddie nodded, tears filling his eyes. "Yeah, okay of course."  
"Thank you," Anatoly smiled. "The Cold War is over and we are friends. I like that we are friends."  
Freddie nodded, "Yeah me too."  
Anatoly hemmorhaged in intense pain as Freddie held his hands and tried to give him comforting words. "Good-bye my friend," Anatoly said his voice barely a whisper.  
Anatoly gave another cry of pain but then stopped. Freddie bit his lip and tried to keep the tears from falling. He knew now that like his wife, Anatoly Sergievsky, was no longer in pain. "Dasvedanya, Comrade," Freddie whispered to his now deceased friend.

Freddie felt like his body lived for itself as he walked into the front office of Alexander Hamilton Middle School. The loss of his two best friends was still trying to sink in. Everything felt surreal like he was walking into a dream. He approached the receptionist. "Hi, I'm here to pick up, Eugene Vassy-Sergievsky." His voice was flat, monotone, devoid of energy.  
The receptionist, a young dark haired woman peered at him through her large glasses. "Are you a relative?"  
"No, I'm his godfather," Freddie said. "I'm his 'in case of emergency and parents can't be reached please notify' person."  
"Alright we need to see some I.D.," the receptionist said. As if expecting an argument, she explained. "It's in case strangers or non custodial parents try to kidnap the child."  
"Fine, fine whatever," Freddie said as he showed her his driver's license.  
She looked at the license without commenting and returned it. "Reason for picking him up?"  
Freddie took a deep breath. "Do I really need to say why?"  
"We can't let the child go without knowing the reason behind it," the receptionist replied.  
Freddie sighed. "His parents were in a car accident and now they're dead, is that reason enough for you?" He snapped.  
The receptionist gasped and picked up the phone. "Ms. Leroy, we have a situation here….The Sergievsky boy's parents were killed. I'm calling him to the office now….He's in Mr. Feldman sixth hour Math...His godfather, Frederick Trumper, is here. Okay, thanks."

She reached for the intercom as a heavyset African-American woman emerged from the office.  
"Mr. Trumper," she said. She took out her hand and Freddie shook it. "I'm Letitia Leroy, the principal. We have an unofficial policy in place in case of the death of a family member, because this is hard for children but also family members. Myself or one of the faculty like to be on hand. Would you step into my office?"  
Freddie followed her inside and invited him to have a seat. Freddie's voice was hollow and far away. "I haven't been sent to the principal's office since I was a kid."  
Ms. Leroy smiled in a way that said 'like I haven't heard that one before.' "I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Trumper. I take it you were related to Mrs. Sergievsky?"  
"Actually, neither," Freddie said. "We were just friends, best friends." Only friends, Freddie thought.  
"Would you like some water, Mr. Trumper?" Ms. Leroy asked.  
"No it's okay," Freddie said in the same monotone.  
Ms. Leroy closely looked at him. "Mr. Trumper-Trumper, any relation to the chess player?"  
Freddie sighed not even having the strength to be annoyed. "Actually, I am the chess player."  
"You were quite the legend-" Ms. Leroy began wanting to compliment him to break the ice.  
"-In my day," Freddie repeated. "I was quite the legend in my day."  
The principal blinked in embarrassment. "I didn't mean-"  
Freddie shook his head. "It's alright, I'm used to it."  
Ms. Leroy continued to the important subject "Mr. Trumper, I want you to know that Eugene and his parents were a credit to our school. Eugene is a brilliant polite student with a great academic record. His parents were very involved in his education and in the PTA. They were good brilliant people and will be missed."  
"They already are," Freddie whispered.  
"You should be proud," Ms. Leroy said.  
"I am thanks," Freddie answered.

The phone rang as the receptionist's voice came through the speakerphone. "Eugene Vassy-Sergievsky is here."  
"Send him in," Ms. Leroy said.  
The office door opened and Eugene was surprised to see not only Ms. Leroy but his godfather. "Uncle Freddie, what are you doing here?" He saw how serious he looked. "What's wrong?"  
Eugene waved for the boy to sit down. The grown ups exchanged a look that said do you want to tell him or shall I? Freddie raised his hand and turned to his godson.  
"Geno, I got a call from your Dad and he and your Mom-there's been an accident. Oh Christ, son, they're both dead."

Eugene instantly paled and his mouth dropped open. He looked from his godfather to the principal and back again. "No, no," he said. Tears filled his eyes. "You're lying! It's not true!"  
"Geno, it is true I wouldn't lie about something like this," Freddie said trying to keep his voice firm and steady.  
Eugene sprang up and headed for the door. "Where are you going?"  
Freddie asked.  
"I'm going to find my Mom and Dad! I want my Mom and Dad!" He tried to open the door but Freddie slammed it shut and held the boy in his arms.  
"Eugene Gregor Frederick Vassy-Sergievsky," Freddie shook the boy and then held him in his arms. Gene sobbed onto his godfather's shoulder holding on for dear life.  
"I want my Mom and Dad," Eugene sobbed.  
Freddie just allowed the boy to cry in his arms. Ms. Leroy stood up from behind her desk and approached the two. "You can take as much time off from school as you need to, Eugene. It's so late in the year that you can wait until Fall to start up again."  
Freddie nodded thanks as he cradled his 11-year-old godson in his arms.

Freddie unlocked the door to the Vassey-Sergievsky home. He remembered how he teased them about the big house. Now it seemed so empty without Florence and Anatoly. He half expected Florence to be on her computer or Anatoly to be poured over a book. But that wasn't going to happen ever again.  
Freddie wearily led Gene up to his room and held the pill bottle that he bought at the pharmacy in his hand. "You want me to make you something to eat?" He asked.  
"No," Gene said. The boy flopped on the bed as Freddie assisted him with taking off his shoes and socks.  
"The nurse said you should probably take these to help you sleep," Freddie opened the bottle of diphenhydramine. He gave the boy two pills and a bottled water then he arose."Uncle Freddie, where are you going?"  
"I'm just downstairs, kiddo, if you need me." Freddie said slowly.

Freddie ambled downstairs looking at the photographs, memorabilia, and decorations that he had seen a hundred times but now seemed new to him. The Hungarian miniatures that Florence collected, the nesting dolls that reminded Anatoly of his old home. The Russian and Hungarian art.  
Freddie spent a long time staring at their wedding photo. He laughed remembering how confused the priest was when they had to explain that the best man was the bride's ex-boyfriend and the matron of honor was the groom's ex-wife. ("He acts like he's never seen a soap opera or heard of a rock band before," Freddie quipped.) He walked downstairs and fingered the chess set. He picked up the white King and Queen and squeezed them tightly in his hand. He then lay them down next to each other. "The King and Queen are dead," he whispered. He looked upwards, the irony didn't miss him by. "Long live the King...please."

Freddie sank down on the couch and ran his hands through his hair. There was so much that he had to do. He had to make funeral arrangements, call Florence and Anatoly's friends, neighbors, and co-workers. He had to get in touch with Svetlana and Gregor. How were they going to take it, especially Gregor? Last Florence told him, the old man had a stroke and preferred to live in Hungary than adjust to a new life in America. The news of his only child's death could finish him off.  
He also had to think of other things. Freddie couldn't stay at this Nassau County house. It was too far from his workplace not to mention that he couldn't afford it. He lived in a shoebox apartment that barely was large enough for one person. He needed to get a bigger apartment for him and Eugene to live in and those weren't easy to come by in Manhattan. Maybe they could move to one of the other boroughs, Brooklyn maybe. That would mean Gene would have to change schools. Erasmus Hall, Freddie's old school closed down and became five separate schools. Should he enroll Gene there? Were the teachers there still idiots? How was Gene going to get by? What did Freddie need to do for him? How would Freddie do as a guardian, better than his own parents (which wasn't saying much)?

So many questions in Freddie's head, but Freddie couldn't move and couldn't even fathom how to start answering them. He was too paralyzed. His legs moved up and he hugged them. He lay on the couch in a fetal position. He couldn't imagine his life without Florence and Anatoly. They were his rudders, his anchors. They kept him grounded and from floating off into a million directions. Now, without them, he was left just floating along. Freddie felt like he was caught in an endless sea with no land in sight. All he could do was frantically try to stay afloat. But the more he tried, the more exhausted he felt. He just wanted to stop and drown.  
He remembered how in 1986 when he was at his lowest point and Florence and Anatoly pulled him out of the abyss before it stared back and welcomed him into the yawning black chasm Niestchze spoke about. Now, he was back at the edge of the abyss and there was no Florence or Anatoly to pull him out.

A scream broke Freddie from his paralysis. Freddie jumped up and ran upstairs and opened the door to Gene's room.  
Freddie scooped his godson up in his arms and rocked him back and forth. "Nightmare?" He asked. In his arms, Gene nodded. "Your parents?"  
Gene nodded and retched. "I think I'm going to be sick." He stood up and ran to the bathroom. Freddie followed him and patted him on the back as the boy vomited into the toilet bowl.

Freddie then led the boy back to his room. "I'm scared, Uncle Freddie. I miss them!"  
"I know, Kid, I miss them too," he said. He kissed the top of his head. "I'm going to tell you something, Geno, we're going to miss them forever but we got to keep going. We aren't getting anywhere staying in one place. We have to just keep moving forward."  
"I don't want to," Gene said.  
"I know, I don't either but we got to," Freddie said. "You just lean on me and I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you enough for both your parents."  
"What's going to happen to us, Uncle Freddie?" Gene asked.  
Freddie rubbed the boy's back and shoulders and kissed his hair. "I don't know. All I can promise you is that you can ask me anything or for help anytime. I will never leave you or ignore you. I will never make you feel that my problems are your fault, because they won't be. When you do right, I will be proud. When you do wrong, I will be there to pick you up and help you try again. When you call, I will always pick up the phone and know it's you. Okay?"  
"Okay," Gene said.

Freddie Trumper knew that he had to be the anchor now. He had a new job to do, keeping his godson afloat. He was now Eugene Gregor Frederick Vassy-Sergievsky's guardian and he was going to be. He would be Gene's mother and father. He could repay the favor that Florence and Anatoly gave him when they pulled him from the abyss by making sure that their son didn't fall into it.  
In all his years playing chess, Freddie proved to the world that he was determined and never quit once he started a game. Well, Freddie Trumper wasn't going to quit now. He was going to be the strong one and take care of this boy. The Pawn wasn't always sacrificed. Sometimes the Knight protected him. Freddie was the Knight and he would protect his Pawn with his life.

Goddammit, he had to.

Author's Notes  
I settled on the American version since that's the one I saw on YouTube. But some alterations, Gregor really was Florence's father and Florence and Anatoly got back together.  
There are a few references to Bobby Fischer like Freddy not wanting to live in Iceland (where Fischer eventually lived) and the reference to Erasmus Hall which was Fischer's old school as well.  
Freddie's breakdown in 1986 occurring in St. Louis is not only a shout out to my hometown, but the fact there is a Chess Hall of Fame (that displays some of the coolest sets)  
Freddie's workplace is not real. Instead it is a composite of the Municipal Archives in Manhattan and the New York Public Archives. I tried to think of a good post-chess career that would have nothing to do with chess, would show off Freddie's intellect, and allow him not to work with people very much and I thought an archives department would fit. I was partly inspired by Katherine Hepburn's character, Bunny Watson in the movie Desk Set in that she knows the entire contents of her library by memory where to find information right down to the page and line number.


	2. Saying Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie prepares for Florence and Anatoly's funeral while facing challenges in his new role as parent, being tormented by nightmares, suppressing the Old Freddie, and facing his own uncertainties

Knight and Pawn  
A Chess Fanfic

Chapter Two: Saying Goodby  
Chapter Summary: While Freddie arranges Florence and Anatoly's funeral, he has to deal with questions towards his parenting skills, feeling threatened by Gene's bond with Grandpa Gregor, trying to suppress the Old Freddie, and being haunted by nightmares from his past.

They say that being the bearer of bad news gets easier the more you repeat it. Freddie Trumper knew that was bullshit.

He called the many people in Florence and Anatoly's address books and breaking the news that his best friends were dead did not get any easier no matter how many times that he said it. He put down the phone and looked at the last two names, the ones that he saved for last because he knew that they would be the most difficult ones to tell. Freddie sighed and dialed the first number. He heard a smoky Russian accented female voice say "Strastoye?"  
Freddie wasn't sure if this was the right person. "Uh do you speak English? I'm trying to reach Svetlana Sergi-oh right I forgot she remarried. What's her married name?"  
"Molokov," the voice supplied. "I am Svetlana Molokov." She sounded sleepy and Freddie glanced at his watch realizing that it would be early morning in Russia. What time was it in Budapest where his next call would be? "And I speak fluent English. What is it?"  
"Uh Svetlana, this is Freddie Trumper, Anatoly and Florence's friend," Freddie began.  
There was a long pause and when Svetlana spoke again, her voice was firm and metallic. "I know who you are, Frederick. Why do you call?"  
"I have something to tell you," Freddie said.  
"It is bad news," Svetlana said. It was a matter of fact statement and not a question.  
"Yeah," Freddie was taken aback. "How did you know?"  
Svetlana sounded dry and deadpan, but almost sarcastic. "When the close friend of my former husband, and not him or his current wife, calls me to tell me that he has something to say, I know the news cannot be good."

"It couldn't be worse actually," Freddie said. "Anatoly and Florence are dead. They died in a car accident."  
There was a long silence that made Freddie wonder if the connection went off or that Svetlana didn't hear him. "Svetlana?" He asked.  
"I heard you," Svetlana said. When she spoke again, she did not sound like the cool formal stoic Svetlana with whom Freddie was usually familiar. She sounded broken and emotional. Mostly, she spoke in Russian but when she returned in English, Freddie could hear that she was trying to hide tears. "He was in pain?"  
"No," Freddie said wanting to spare her feelings from at least one bit of news. "It was a head on collision, they went like that. I don't think they felt a thing."  
"I-I," Svetlana cleared her throat. "I must inform my daughters and my husband. He was friend of Anatoly's as well, his former second as you well know. There will be funeral, yes?"  
"Yes," Freddie looked at the papers. Always prepared, Florence and Anatoly had their paperwork and wills made including instructions for funeral. "Well, their bodies are going to be donated to science, but there will be a memorial service Saturday on the 16th here in Long Island." He had arranged the service with the local funeral home.  
"Thank you, Frederick," Svetlana said. "We will be there or I will be there even if my husband and daughters can not." Freddie seriously wondered how she felt about her ex-husband living in the U.S. with his second wife and son. Was she jealous, competitive, felt that her daughters were less important in their father's eyes than his son? Anatoly gave no sign of that. His daughters visited every summer, the Vassy-Sergievsky family visited Russia the previous year, and Anatoly always called and sent gifts every holiday and birthday. The girls had a good relationship with their half brother. Anatoly's will had money evenly distributed between all three children, but Freddie still wondered if that was the case. That somehow Anatoly's Russian family felt like they were in second place to his American family in his affections.  
"Okay thanks," Freddie said. "Let me know when your flight comes in and everything."  
"I will," Svetlana said. "Thank you for informing me, Frederick." The Russian woman hung up and Freddie sighed with relief that it was easier than he thought. He flipped the pages in Florence's address book and pushed the Hungarian country code then Gregor Vassy's number.

A female voice said, "Ja napot kivanoki."  
Freddie was confused and looked at the number. "Uh I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. I am trying to reach Gregor Vassy."  
"Igen, igen," the woman replied. "This Gregor Vassy home. I am Anika. I Gregor's nurse."  
"Oh," Freddie said. "Is he able to talk? I have news for him."  
"Who this?" Anika asked.  
"Oh he knows me," Freddie said. "I'm Frederick Trumper, his daughter's friend." Now whether he likes me or not is another story, Freddie thought.  
Anika put the phone away from her and he could hear a conversation in Hungarian, but Freddie couldn't even half understand it. When Freddie heard the voice on the other line, it was that of Gregor. "Yes, Frederick what is it?" Even though he had a distinct accent, Gregor spoke English fluently. Freddie couldn't miss the disdain that Gregor said just by saying his name. As though the name "Frederick" was some sort of Hungarian curse word.  
Freddie informed the elderly man about his daughter and son in law's deaths. There was a brief silence when he could hear a sound almost like a strangled gasp combined with a cry of pain. Freddie didn't need a translator to know that Gregor was yelling "No, no it cannot be" and similar things that his grandson yelled not even two days ago.

There was more shouting and the sound of breaking things in the background. Freddie winced as he could hear the pain in the old man's voice. Finally, Gregor's voice became quiet and subdued as Anika returned to the phone. "Sorry, I gave sedative." She prounounced the word as "se-DA-teev." "There funnel?"  
Freddie was confused. "Funnel? Oh funeral! Yes, it will be on the 16th Saturday here in Long Island."  
Anika engaged in another Hungarian argument with Gregor, this time heated. When Anika returned, she sighed with disappointment. "We go. Not healthy man he should not, but we go. I sorry, Florence was good woman and daughter." The nurse sounded almost in tears.  
"Yes she was," Freddie answered. Freddie held the phone as the dial tone rang telling him the call was over. "A very good woman," Freddie said rubbing his wet stinging eyes. 

Freddie tried to keep himself busy by first cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry, and vacuuming the floor, followed by checking apartment listings within his price range when he was interrupted by yet another knock at the door. Freddie rolled his eyes and peered behind the curtain. A blond woman sporting a big curly Fawcett 'do stood at the doorway. She wore light blue Capri pants and a white and blue polka dot blouse. A matching hairband wrapped around her hair and she wore large blue hoop earrings. Freddie inwardly groaned when he saw that she had a glass covered dish in her hands. He had no doubt what was inside.  
The woman peered through the window. "Hi hello, I'm Emma Carte- uh Caswell. Nathan, Gene's friend's, mother. I am-was a friend of Florence and Anatoly's. I am so sorry for your loss."  
Freddie wanted to snap. Loss, no loss is what happens after a game and your opponent gets the final gambit. This isn't a loss. This is when two thirds of your life are ripped out and you can't find a way to pull yourself together.  
Freddie's mouth felt dry and not for the first time in almost ten years felt the craving for addictions that he thought were buried in the past like his reputation as the "bad boy of the chess world." Things that disappear as long as Freddie didn't look at them.

The woman patiently waited, casserole in hand. Freddie had a feeling that she wasn't going to leave if he didn't open the door. Besides the name Nathan sounded familiar. Then Freddie remembered, that he was the boy that Gene mentioned his parents had gotten divorced and whose father left his mother for another woman. Back when Gene needed that pep talk assurance that his parents weren't ever getting divorced. Only three weeks ago, Gene's birthday, but now it seemed like a lifetime ago.  
Freddie unlocked and opened the door. "Come on in. You can put it in the fridge with the others."  
Ms. Caswell stepped inside the kitchen and said, "The others-?" Then she looked inside the refrigerator and saw six identical dishes. "Oh the others."  
"I also got sandwiches," Freddie opened the breadbox to reveal several subs. Emma Caswell sheepishly placed the casserole next to the others. "I'm Mr. Popular all of a sudden." Freddie said dryly. He wondered if either these ladies thought that as a single man he was incapable of keeping house or heard whispers that some crazy guy or Freddie Trumper, which pretty much meant the same thing, practically moved into 217 Spassky Rd. and Gene might be in danger.  
More than likely "Suburban Mother Headquarters" received a signal: "Attn. Single Moms: Fairly Attractive Genius Single Guy on Spassky With Kid. Better Yet, not Grieving Widower, So No Mourning Period Needed. Make Your Move, Ladies!"

Emma tapped on the countertop as if searching for something to say. Freddie figured that he could extend some courtesy. "Would you like some coffee, Ms. Caswell?" Besides she wasn't half bad looking and if he remembered correctly newly divorced.  
"Sure and please call me Emma, uh-?" She began.  
"Freddie Trumper," Freddie said.  
"Ah," Emma said awkwardly.  
"You've heard of me," Freddie realized.  
"Yes, well I don't play chess but I remember hearing your name," Emma said.  
Freddie sighed. "And the news about me no doubt." Sometimes he wondered which was worse. The condescending patronizing attitude from people like Ms. Leroy who actually followed the game and said something like how much of a legend he used to be implying Freddie Trumper was already dead or old news, buried under all the younger newer champions or those who didn't follow the game and knew him for his name, attitude, tantrums, addictions, controversial remarks, breakdown, financial loss, and failures. One look from Emma and Freddie knew that she was the latter. Of course there were the scarier ones, the ones with shaved heads, swastika tattoos, and white hoods that sent disturbing letters about how right they thought Freddie was about some quote he said years ago about international conspiracies and Communism. (Of course if they knew that Freddie's descendants were some of the very people that they would have marched to a death camp or that Freddie in later life had been best friends with a Communist that would have been a different story.)  
"Well yes, uh I mean no," Emma said. "But mostly Florence and Anatoly talked about you. They say uh said that you were are a good friend."  
"From them I'll take it as a compliment," Freddie said.

Freddie stood on his toes and picked up a pair of mugs from the counter above the sink. One was in Russian and the other Hungarian. Freddie didn't know what they said, but the pictures of birds, flowers, and loving couples suggested that they were probably some Russo-Hungarian equivalent to "love is like a dove" or some sweetsy thing that Freddie would have made fun of his friends about.  
Freddie poured hot water into the percolator and turned it on. "I can help you with that if you like." Emma suggested.  
"I got it," Freddie insisted as he placed the coffee in the filters. "You like anything with your coffee?"  
"Sugar is fine," Emma said. Emma looked around. "Their home looks very well kept. It's like they never left."  
Freddie smirked. "What you expected once the single guy friend stepped in, the place would be full of empty pizza boxes, broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, and girlie mags?"  
Emma blushed. "No, it's just-"  
"You wouldn't be the first," Freddie snapped. "One of your friends, Karen, suggested that she could come by and do our laundry once a week. I told her that I'll save her the trouble, do our laundry myself, and give her a dollar in quarters."  
"I didn't mean to offend you," Emma said politely. "I don't think anyone did. We are just trying to help. Florence and Anatoly were good friends -"  
-"And valuable members of the community," Freddie repeated. It"Heard just about every variation in the past couple of days. Every time I try to forget, someone has to knock on the door to remind me."  
Emma blinked upset but not surprised. "By now, most people would be offended,"Freddie said.  
"Florence mentioned that you are still kind of unpredictable with your behavior," Emma said cagily.  
"She must have been in a good mood that day," Freddie joked dryly. "Usually she described me as a 'moody son of a bitch drama queen.'"  
"Well she said that too," Emma answered.  
"I'm sorry," Freddie said wearily. "I have just been on edge lately."  
"That's okay," Emma said as the coffee light turned indicating that it was done.

Freddie poured the finished coffee and sugar into two mugs and slid one over to Emma.  
"So how is Gene doing?" Emma asked.  
Freddie sipped his coffee thoughtfully "How do you think?" He didn't want to say that he spent a lot of time in his room. He didn't go out, talk much, and barely ate. How every time he heard a knock or saw that door open, he really hoped that his parents were on the other side. The only thing that Freddie could do, was to just let him grieve it out and be there for him when he wanted to talk.  
"I understand," Emma said. "Losing one parent is hard enough, but losing both must be worse. You must feel like the world you once knew has completely collapsed and you are no longer safe and protected."  
Freddie nodded. "Yeah, that's how it is….for him."  
"So what's going to happen with him?" Emma asked.  
"His folks left him with me in their wills. I don't know but I think as soon as this is all over the funeral and everything, we might be moving to a new place," Freddie said.  
Emma pursed her lips. "Are you sure that's such a good idea? Gene has lived here almost his whole life. He and his parents moved to the neighborhood when he was two. He has friends here, it's safe and comfortable-"  
"-And expensive," Freddie interrupted. "I checked the tax records on this place! I could save up my money, buy a new car, live in that car and it would be more affordable. Besides, I work in the city and I need to live closer to my job or at least as close as I can afford."  
"No kidding I work in Manhattan too," Emma said. "I'm a secretary at Goldwater, Wheeler, and McCann. Where do you work?"  
"I'm an archivist at Federal Depository, Records, and Archives," Freddie said. "We did some of your papers. How did that Winningham probate case go?"  
"Still pending," Emma answered. Then she returned to the subject at hand. "I live out here and work in Manhattan and manage it. Many parents out here do, even single parents like myself."  
Freddie smirked. "No offense but I don't have it in me to be one of the local moms."

"I just think that it would be more comfortable for Gene if he lived in a place that he's familiar with," Emma suggested. And his handsome single father substitute, Freddie wondered as she continued. "I know what it's like. My parents suggested my children and I move back to Chicago-that's where I'm from originally- to be closer to them after the divorce, but my kids have lived their whole lives in this neighborhood. They know everyone at school and their friends, my friends. It's easier for them to be around people they know."  
"Yeah and that's probably great for them," Freddie said. "But Gene practically looks at this house and outside his window at this town like it's a mausoleum. He is surrounded by memories that are going to hurt him for the rest of his life. Every place he'll go will remind him of when his folks took him there. Every time he talks to one of his parents' friends and they go on about big he's getting or proud his mom and dad would be, he'll hear the ache in that idiot's voice when they suddenly remember oh yeah his mom and pop aren't there to be proud of him. Every memory, every time he hangs out with one of those kids that he's known since he was two or sees one of his parents' friends, will just reopen that gaping wound. I don't want it to. The best thing that I can do for him is start over, fresh in a new place."  
"Maybe you could work out a compromise," Emma said. "Perhaps, you can move to the city and work, and financially support Gene and he could remain here. My home is certainly large enough and I know Nathan would love to have his friend stay with him. You could visit on the weekend."  
Freddie was getting tired of this woman's incessant prying. It was none of this total stranger's damn business what Freddie decided to do with his godson. Whether he raised him, didn't raise him, or tied him up and threw him in the goddam Hudson River was his business, not hers. He needed to make that clear. "How's that arrangement working out with your ex husband and your kids? He able to shell out support payments while living with his mistress? Gene told me what his buddy is going through. See when it happened to me, my Old Man's support payments stopped even before the first year was up! Because it seems like being only the guy with the checkbook entitles some to get away with a lot of shit that they shouldn't!"

Emma finished her coffee and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Freddie." Freddie figured from her tone that really it wasn't. "You can tell Gene that Nathan is really worried about him, but you know how sixth grade boys are about not wanting to talk about their feelings"  
"-Yeah kind of familiar having been one myself," Freddie quipped.  
"What I mean is Gene can come over anytime if he wants to hang out or talk with Nathan and he was hoping that he could come over just to look in on Gene if he wants to."  
"Sure, I'll talk to him about it," Freddie said. As long as you're not there, Bitch, He thought. He led Emma outside and washed up the coffee cups.

Later that evening, Freddie knocked on Gene's bedroom door and opened it subtly. The boy looked at the ceiling as though he were hypnotized. He wasn't asleep. He was just lying there. Slow rock music played on the stereo. Occasionally, the singer moaned lyrics like he was drugged, depressed, or both. "Black hole sun/Won't you come/And wash away the rain/Black hole sun/won't you come?/Won't you come?…"  
"Hey, can I come in Geno?" Freddie asked.  
Gene shrugged and sat up making room for his godfather. "You want something to eat?" Gene shook his head. "Look, Geno, there are about ten casseroles and 15 sub sandwiches down there and I am not going to eat them myself. Now come on, they're good for you and there are children starving in...I don't know, some Third World Country that I played chess in."  
"If they can't afford to feed their children, then they probably couldn't afford to invite you to come play chess," Gene said sarcastically.  
He inherited his mother's mouth all right, Freddie thought. "You'd be surprised how many countries whose leaders don't give two craps about feeding or housing the people around them, but will shell out the big bucks to build some fancy venue and invite a couple of foreign guys to take each other out inside it."  
"Great we can give the food to them then," Gene mumbled. After a few seconds of silence, Gene sighed. "I'll eat later."  
"Uh Nathan's mom was here," Freddie said. "We had a...good conversation. She said that you can go to his place or he can come here if you like."  
"He's coming to the funeral," Gene said. "I'll see him then."  
"Should let you know, I talked to Svetlana and your grandfather," Freddie said. "They're both coming in on the 12th. Svetlana's also bringing Molokov and the girls. I'm supposed to meet them at the airport."  
Gene's eyes flickered with slight interest. "Can I come with you then? I want to see Gapa again and Svetlana."  
"Sure," Freddie said. Just as quickly, Gene's eyes dimmed as before. 

"Anything else you want to do," Freddie asked. "You want to go for a drive or something?" Freddie offered.  
"Mom's steering wheel doesn't work and Dad's car... isn't here," Gene reminded him.  
"Oh I forgot," Freddie said remembering why Anatoly's car wasn't there. He made a mental note to get Florence's car's steering wheel fixed by the 12th, another item on his to-do list. "How about a walk, then?"  
"No," Gene said.  
"Want to play that Link game or watch a movie or have a friendly game of chess?" Freddie asked.  
"No, no, and especially no," Gene said. "Uncle Freddie, I just want to be left alone."

Freddie sighed and fingered his godson's bedsheets tracing the geometric shapes and trying to find something, anything to say. "Look Geno, it won't do you any good just staying holed up in your room. The world's is still going on out there."  
"Or maybe if I stay in my room long enough, I can become a chess champion. It worked for you didn't it?"Gene said sarcastically.  
Freddie stung a bit at his own childhood hypocrisy thrown out at him. "Yeah, I know I'm probably the worst person to give that advice aren't I? But, it was only a safety net for me for a little while. I couldn't keep the world outside. It came through whether I wanted it to or not. Eventually, I had to get out when I-left school and took up professional chess. I had to leave to make things happen."

Gene looked up at his uncle with tears in his eyes. "Uncle Freddie, are you going to leave me?"  
Freddie realized that besides the grief, Gene was uncertain. Who was going to take care of him? Where would he live? Just because Freddie practically moved into his parents' house, there was no guarantee that he was going to stay beyond the funeral. Gene needed answers, permanent answers and Freddie needed to give them to him.  
"Of course not," Freddie said. "Before he died your dad made me swear to take care of you. I've been going over your folk's papers and they both wanted me to take you in if anything happened. Your mom even said in her will and I quote ', Should both my husband and I pass away or become incapacitated, custody of our son Eugene Gregor Frederick Vassy-Sergievsky will go to his godfather, Frederick Robert Trumper.' In parentheses, '(Quit freaking out, Freddie, you'll do fine!)' I'm serious, that's what it said word for word. It's what they wanted, but I'm leaving it up to you. Quite a few of your parents' friends and friends' parents said that they would take you in. Svetlana might, it might be good to live with your sisters, well half-sisters anyway. I don't know about your grandfather, because of his health but he might take you in. There are a hell of lot better options than me."  
That was as far as he got when Gene sat up from his bed and gave his godfather a hug. At first Freddie was stunned,but then he returned the embrace. "So you don't want me?" Gene asked.  
Freddie winced. "I do, more than anything. I just can't think of any reason why you should want me."  
Gene pulled away from his godfather. "Because you're my Uncle Freddie and that's enough of a reason."  
Freddie smiled through his tears. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."  
He kissed the top of the boy's head and stood up. "Uncle Freddie, if you want to take a walk, tomorrow we can."  
Freddie nodded. Gene still needed tonight to think, grieve, and sleep. No need to rush. "Thanks, kiddo. Night."

Freddie wearily sank into the living room and practically collapsed on the sofa. While Florence and Anatoly's bedroom was available, Freddie couldn't bring himself to sleep in it. It seemed wrong, somehow almost sacrilegious. Instead he made do with the couch that is when he did sleep which in the past couple of days was few and far between. The phone rang again, probably another well meaning friend or neighbor. Freddie took the phone off the hook then kicked off his shoes. He was exhausted. All of the emotions that he forced himself to repress in his drive to be the strong one and keep everything under control drained him. He closed his eyes as unwanted memories began to resurface like clips on television as one tries to change the channel:

1966-They were fighting again. Freddie moved his white pawn forward one space trying to concentrate on the board in front of him rather than the fight below, but the raised voices made it awfully hard.  
"The kid's a fucking f@#$$_t," he said  
"He needs a fucking man in his life," she screamed back. "How's he ever going to learn anything if you're not around?"  
"I don't know maybe you should get one of your boyfriend's to do it for him!"  
"Get out of here, Chuck, just get the fuck out!"  
"I won't come back this time, Sylvia, I mean it!"  
"Good," the door slammed. Freddie didn't even look up from his game. It was a pattern just like the pieces on the board. He'd leave, go to the bar, and get drunk. She'd sob in her room, grab her bottle of Valium, and go on a tirade about how horrible men were and that they were always against her and that everyone was against her. He would come back and the next morning the fight was over like it never was.  
Freddie moved the black pawn and turned on the radio to block out the sounds. He could hear Mick Jagger sing "I said, 'Hey (hey) you (you) get off of my cloud/Hey (hey) you (you) get off of my cloud/Hey (hey) you (you) get off of my cloud/Don't hang around/'Cause two's a crowd/On my cloud, Baby!'..."He cranked up the radio and continued with his game, nothing else existing but the chess pieces and the music.

1969-When he left what surprised Freddie was not the noise. It was the silence. He came back from school muttering under his breath about how stupid the teachers were and he never learned anything useful. Freddie looked at the driveway to see him in his gray flannel suit put several boxes filled with stuff in his Olds. "Pop, where you going?" Freddie asked. He didn't say anything, didn't yell, rant, or rave. He didn't even look in his son's direction as he entered the car. Freddie stepped back as he started the car and drove away.  
Freddie entered the living room as the TV blared in the background. She sat at the kitchen table, surprised to see her son enter. Her Jackie O bouffant was in disarray and make up smeared her face. She didn't bother responding to her son's questions. Instead, she ignored him as she slowly walked upstairs to her room. Freddie glanced at the paperwork on the table Application for the Dissolution of a Marriage with their names written. Freddie read the divorce papers as the TV announcer mentioned that the Apollo 11 space shuttle took off from Cape Canaveral and was now in outer space. Like Freddie gave a shit.

1971-It was almost comical how they came and went. "This is Bob, he'll be staying with us for awhile." "This is Bill my special friend." "This is Jack, we're going out." "This is Tom, we're getting married." When she introduced Freddie to Harry, he didn't think anything of it. He thought that he was just another one, another in the long stream of men. But oh he was different, she insisted. They were always different, she believed. Different, but the same, Freddie knew. They always left. (He remembered as he left, Bob yelled "No one can stay with that bitch!")  
To his credit, Harry had a decent job. He was in insurance and if the marriage lasted, there might be enough money to move them from this row house dump in Flatbush. He didn't look like the others with their long hair, grizzled beards, beer guts, tattoos, and Brooklyn-Bronx accents. Instead, he was a thin man with short gray hair dressed very primly in a cardigan, khaki pants, and horn rimmed glasses. He had a Westchester county accent which she loved to hear because to her it sounded like "big money." But what Freddie liked the most was that Harry actually seemed genuinely interested in what Freddie was doing. When Freddie told him that he played chess, Harry was pleased.  
"I tell him that it's not good for him to spend all his time in his room with that chess set," she said. "He'll get nowhere playing games."  
"Now Sylvia, I'm sure many told Bobby Fischer the same thing and look where he is," Harry said.  
Freddie smiled glad that at least one adult in his life was on the same wavelength as him. "In fact, I would like to see you play, if that's alright."  
"Okay," Freddie said. Smiling, he invited him up to his bedroom and showed him the board.  
They played a few rounds taking one another's pawns when Freddie managed to take Harry's black rook with his white knight. Harry smiled and clapped. "That was good, very good," he said. Harry stood up and walked behind the young boy and put his hands on his shoulders.  
At first, Freddie didn't mind until Harry moved his hands up and down his arms in an almost slow caress. He started to feel uncomfortable and tried to move away, but Harry held him down. "You're too tense," Harry then rubbed and massaged his shoulders.  
Freddie managed to get up from the chair and stood. "I don't feel like playing anymore," he said.

1972-That touch was the first of many. Freddie tried to avoid them, kept himself after school, kept his room locked, and tried not to be alone too long with Harry but somehow he always managed. Harry would make some excuse to "accidentally" brush past Freddie and touch his arm or neck too long. He touched his hair in a lover-like way.  
Freddie hated it and told her a few times but she dismissed it. "You're imagining things." "He's just a hugger." "You were never one to give much affection. You're misunderstanding him." Or would just tell him to "stop making shit up."  
It was tense, but subdued until one night when things exploded. Freddie came home from school disliking Erasmus Hall as much as any other school he had been to when he saw Harry alone watching TV and drinking a glass of wine. Freddie asked where she was.  
"Shopping," Harry laughed. "You know women. Have a seat." He patted the cushion next to him.  
"No thanks," Freddie said. He walked upstairs and stared in shock at the padlock that was now on his room door. He tried to forcing it off a few times, but realized that it was a lost cause and walked downstairs.  
"My room is padlocked," Freddie said.  
"It was your mother's idea," Harry said. "She wants you to become more sociable."  
"Is there a key?" Freddie asked.  
Harry nodded. "I have it and I will give it to you if you share a drink with me."  
Freddie nervously sat down as his stepfather poured him a glass of wine. Freddie picked it up and put it to his lips. It tasted normal going down even if Freddie did feel a bit sleepy. They sat and watched TV for a few minutes in silence.  
Harry's hand then touched Freddie's knee. Freddie brushed it off. He did it again this time closer to Freddie's crotch. Freddie pushed his hand off. After a few more minutes, Harry then placed his hand right on his stepson's crotch and started rubbing his penis.  
Freddie moved away and said, "Stop." When he didn't listen, Freddie repeated himself more firmly and tried to block the touches with his hands. Harry then moved Freddie closer and became more forceful. This time, Freddie yelled," Stop!" and slapped Harry across the face.  
Harry was stunned for a minute, but then pushed Freddie off the couch and undid his pants. "Get off me!" Freddie screamed. "Get off me!" Freddie managed to kick Harry in the shin and wiggle himself free. Before Harry could touch him again, Freddie punched him right in the jaw then did another one for good measure. Harry tried to approach him, but Freddie aimed his fists for another punch.  
Just then the door opened and she came in, her shopping bags dropped to the floor. "Frederick what the fuck are you doing?"  
"Sylvia, I caught him in here with his pants down pleasuring himself-"  
"-I was not!" Freddie insisted as he pulled up his pants.  
"It's true," Harry said. "I told him that he shouldn't do that in public when he started using foul language. Sylvia, he had been drinking. I lectured him and he became rather violent with me!"  
"Freddie, how could you hit your own stepfather," she said.  
"It's not true, Ma, he tried to touch me and when he didn't stop, I punched him!" Freddie insisted.  
She slapped her son hard. The air stung with each word that she said. "Do! Not! Lie! To! Me!"  
"Sylvia, the boy is unhinged," Harry said. "He needs help."  
"I'm unhinged?" Freddie said sarcastically. "You've been touching me since the moment you got here! Just now, you tried to rape me!"  
"He has a bad temper, keeps to himself, and tells lies," Harry said.  
"I'm not lying," Freddie insisted. "Ma, who you gonna believe him or me?"  
She looked between her husband and son. There was a tense moment, but she stepped towards her husband and leaned on his shoulder. "Harry is an honest businessman with good connections and is taking me out of here to Westchester County."  
Freddie shook his head not wanting to believe that she would choose a man, one of many, over her own son, her only child. "And what about me?"  
"You?" Sylvia said. "You're only my son."  
Later that night, Freddie didn't take much with him. He only took the clothes on his back and $100.00 from his mother's purse. Fifteen years old, and he was running away from home. He didn't regret leaving them. The Hell with them. He should have left long ago. As he sneaked out of the house into the late night, Freddie's only regret was that he didn't take his chess set with him.

In the present, the memories caused Freddie to stumble off the sofa. His chest and stomach constricted in panic and his breath came short and desperate. He crouched down on the floor, his knuckles and knees clenched the carpet. He tried to control his breathing keeping his eyes on the Russian patterns on the floor. His shoulders and spine jerkily moved up and down, the more desperate his breath became. He waited until his breaths slowed down and his posture sagged. He rolled up into a seated position, not really calm, just tired from the emotional release. He felt slightly calmer, but knew that it would take forever for him to get back to sleep if he ever did.

Freddie and Gene waited at the airport for their visitors to come off the gangplank. They stood as a man, woman, and two girls approached the small family.  
"Frederick," Svetlana Molokov said. She changed a lot. During her marriage to Anatoly Sergievsky, she was more domestic, serious, prim, and quiet. Now with her marriage to Alexander Molokov, she gained a sophisticated cool elegance. Her dark hair was primly tied back in a chignon and she wore a black pants, white blouse, and black blazer. These days, Freddie recognized some sort of allure with her. Similar to an Old Hollywood movie star, Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Grace Kelly, or someone like that-beautiful, gorgeous, quiet, but aloof, remote and unapproachable. Very different from the warm, open hearted, sincere Florence Vassy. No wonder Anatoly was caught between them, Freddie thought.  
Freddie took her hand and considered hugging her, but her forbidding nature told him to back off. Instead, Freddie just shook her hand and rubbed her forearm moving towards her shoulder. "Svetlana," he said. "I usually have something to say, but that doesn't seem right somehow."  
"I am grateful," Svetlana said.

Because of their completely different personalities, Freddie and Svetlana did not always get along. There was something about her that made Freddie want to lash out and say something shocking to her just to annoy or provoke her. Sure, he had that attitude with Florence and Anatoly, but they had long gotten used to it. They usually volleyed off of it with some sort of comeback or remark like "Grow up, Freddie." Svetlana usually just ignored him or considered him not worth arguing with most of the time and just had a serious frown.  
Freddie remembered at Florence and Anatoly's wedding when he stood as best man and Svetlana was the matron of honor. During the reception, Freddie got to the root of the love square that now no longer existed among the wedding party. "So let's get this straight, Florence and I used to live together and were boyfriend and girlfriend and now we're not. Anatoly and Svetlana were married and now are divorced. Now, Florence and Anatoly are married and God bless them. Well, there's only one thing left to do. Rules are rules. Svetlana, you and I now have to sleep with each other. That's how it goes, I don't make this shit up." He motioned towards the door and attempted a come hither expression. "Come on."  
Svetlana drank from her champagne glass and ran her finger along the rim. "Frederick, let's make this clear. If either of our governments finally do end their animosity with nuclear weapons and everyone in both our countries perished with only you as the last man and I the last woman and the survival of our species depended upon both of us procreating, I still would not sleep with you."  
Freddie sat down at the rejection. "Well you just condemned the human race to its doom," he said sounding like a sulking teenager. He gave an audible shiver and said out loud, "Brr, hey Anatoly what's Russian for 'Ice Queen?'"  
Anatoly rolled his eyes and didn't answer, but smiled amused. Florence shook her head and laughed and said, "Get over yourself, Freddie." Svetlana had no response and glared at the sarcastic American.

"Strastoye, Svetlana, izvinite" Gene said politely.  
Svetlana nodded and gave her stepson a quick embrace."Spasibo, Yevgeny, izvinite." The American could see tears forming in her eyelids. Freddie silently thought Gene obviously was a credit to his late parents. He even melted the Russian Ice Queen.  
Freddie turned to the other members of her party. IAlexandee Molokov, Anatoly's former second and now the current husband of his ex-wife stood protectively by her side. He hadn't changed much, still that officious smarminess. He filled out a lot more and his dark suit revealed his ever increased waistline. He held his wife's hand as though he were the Knight errant and she his queen and he would defend her and her two princesses with his life. Anatoly once mentioned that he did not mind that Florence eventually married his former second, honestly he wasn't surprised that they struck up more than a friendship in the first place. "He gives her what I never could, protection and security."  
Frankly, Freddie never liked Molokov. Reuniting with him reminded him too much of Bangkok and remembering Bangkok reminded Freddie too much of a certain person that was once in his life and now no longer was. A certain person who sold him to the public, then dropped him once he was no longer valuable, but not before he bled him dry. "Frederick, I am so sorry. Anatoly and Florence have left a tremendous void in all of our lives."  
"Yeah I know," Freddie said.  
"How are you and the boy coping?" He asked.

"As well as can be expected," Freddie said shortly. Before Molokov could continue uttering vague but pointless platitudes, Freddie turned to the young girls, one looked to be about college age and the other in her mid-teens. Looking at how old they were reminded Freddie how much older Anatoly was than either him or Florence. He was 40 when they met and made it to early 50's. He had a lifetime of experience that Freddie hadn't even yet reached. Then again Florence was older than Freddie, forcibly taken away from Budapest and separated from her father one year before Freddie was even born. "Hi uh-?"  
"Irina," the older girl said who looked about 18 or 19. She looked more like her mother, tall with dark hair but cut short to her neck. She wore a dark blouse and jeans, and brown barrettes. She also seemed to have inherited her mother's coolness though in youth, it simply appeared as quiet shyness rather than glamorous aloofness.  
"Katia," said the younger girl who looked about 16. She had long fair curly hair that was tied in a ponytail and wore a short pencil thin skirt that cut right to her knees, and a black top with cap sleeves. She had her father's warmer softer appearance and demeanor which she demonstrated when she hugged her half-brother, practically tackling him. "Hi, Krokodil Genya," she said warmly calling Gene by the familiar nickname of the Russian stop motion animation character who shared the same name as her half-brother.  
Gene gladly returned his half-sister's embrace. "Hey, Kit Kat," he returned with his own mocking name towards her.  
Irina at first looked shy and uncomfortable, but followed suit and hugged Gene. The three young people started chattering in Russian and English, breaking the ice that their parental figures were still caught behind. 

Gene walked forward with Irina and Katia while Freddie, Molokov, and Svetlana lingered behind. "I'm still waiting for Gregor. His flight is supposed to come in about two hours from now, but you know how flights are."  
"I understand," Svetlana said. "We are staying at Hilton."  
"You want me to drive you there? I know where that is. It's not far from here. I can take you then come right back for Gregor."  
"We have rental car waiting," Molokov said.  
Then what the Hell did I wait for you for, Freddie wanted to snap, but he didn't say. In the past few days since his conversation with Emma Caswell, it was taking great Herculean effort to suppress the brash sarcastic Freddie Trumper, but he also knew that this wasn't the time for it. This wasn't about him. This was about Florence, Anatoly, and Gene. Gene needed his adopted father's strength to get him through this, not the angry tantrums that he felt, the rage that Freddie still wanted to throw over the cruel injustice that his best friends were taken from him.  
"But if you wish, you may help us with our luggage," Svetlana said. Freddie shrugged and walked with the Russian family towards the rental car lot. 

Molokov and Freddie trailed behind Gene and the ladies. When they reached the car, Molokov waited until Svetlana, Irina, and Katia entered the car before nodding for Freddie to help him put the luggage inside the trunk. Gene hung around behind with a far away expression that wasn't interested in the adult conversation.  
"This is a difficult time for you and Eugene," Molokov began.  
"Yeah," Freddie said in a tone that indicated "you think?"  
"But I have news of a mutual friend of ours, Mr. deCourcey," Molokov said.  
"Alexander right now I have so much on my mind that Walter deCourcey is the least of my problems," Freddie said.  
"Then you would not be interested in the fact that he will soon be removed from his lofty position at Global Television," Molokov tantalized.  
"Not at all," Freddie said. He then started. "Why what happened?" 

"Well officially, he will say that the position is too confining and that he would like to return to his first love of becoming an agent and discovering and guiding bright young talents to achieve their full potential," Molokov said cagily.  
"Yeah and we all know what kind of guidance that first love entails" Freddie said under his breath. "And unofficially-"  
"-Well unofficially he is being forcibly removed because of some money moving problems, plus a potential scandal involving a young woman and I use the term 'woman' loosely."  
"So nothing's changed then," Freddie smirked. "Only surprise is that it's a girl this time. So they think that the best way to punish someone for potentially molesting a kid is to let him go back to being an agent and spend time in close contact with various clients, many of which have or are kids. Makes perfect sense. Hey, while they are at it, why don't they round up the remaining Nazis and put them in charge of the Weisenthal Center? You know I hear David Duke isn't doing anything these days. Why doesn't he become President of the NAACP?" Okay, sometimes the brash sarcastic Freddie Trumper could only be suppressed for so long.  
"He is removed from his government and media position thereby not embarrassing the United States agency that once employed him," Molokov said. "They bought the witnesses off so there will be no trial, but you know how even the very faint odor of scandal might prove to be humiliating. What he does after he leaves is not their concern."  
"How do you know this?" Freddie said. "I thought you were retired from the game." They both knew what game he was really talking about.  
"I am since the Cold War is over and I have my family" Molokov said. His new family, Freddie remembered. Molokov's divorce was finalized after The Cold War ended the same time that he made his relationship with Svetlana official with a marriage ceremony. It amused Freddie how tight this circle was, that many of these same people were still in one another's lives beyond that US Vs. USSR Chess Match. "However, I still have contacts in my old business and they still keep me informed."

Svetlana rolled down her window. "Alexander we must go. Eugene, you may come with us if you like."  
Gene looked from his stepmother, stepfather, and sisters to his guardian. "You can go if you want, Kid." Freddie said.  
"Thanks, but I will stay and wait for my grandfather," Gene said.  
Svetlana shrugged as Alexander entered the driver's seat. She turned to Freddie. "We will go to the hotel and get some sleep. We will come to Florence and Anatoly's house sometime tomorrow in the afternoon."  
Freddie nodded and moved aside so the car could pull out of the parking lot.

Once again, Freddie and Gene waited at a gangplank for an arrival. It took close to three hours but finally the guests arrived. Freddie winced when he saw the old man wheeled towards them. A woman with short brown hair and a nursing uniform stood behind him. Freddie realized that she was probably the Anika that he spoke to on the phone. She said something in Hungarian and Gregor gave a sharp retort.  
Freddie remembered that the last time he personally saw Gregor was in 1986 and he realized how much he had changed in those nine years. Even though Gregor Vassy had been through a lot, there was an almost ageless quality to him. That wasn't the man that was before Freddie now. The news of his daughter's death reached over across the world and transformed an intellectual quiet distinguished man who had survived tremendous hardship and separation into a broken white haired old man in a wheelchair who glared at his daughter's former boyfriend and grandson's guardian with such disdain and fury. "Hi, Gregor," Freddie said trying to be polite.  
"Frederick," Gregor said. Ah, there was that Hungarian curse word again. Freddie knew that Gregor didn't like him and after what happened in '86 who could blame him? But with that look, Freddie knew that Gregor hated him and probably always had.  
Gene looked from his guardian to his grandfather and could sense the tension between them. He walked towards his grandfather.  
"Sanjalom Yangapa," he said.  
Gregor looked closely at the young boy and put his hands on the boy's face as if trying to see the boy's mother in his appearance. "Eugene," he said sadly. Tears sprang from the old man's eyes and he embraced him. The grandfather and grandson sobbed in each other's arms.

Freddie returned from work with a splitting headache. It was the day before the funeral and everything seemed to conspire to make him even more miserable than having just be in mourning for his deceased friends.  
Even though, Dr. Ledbetter allowed him to take a few days off for bereavement, when Freddie returned there was a pile of archives to sort through including the Goldman files which needed to be completed post haste. He kept arguing the memorial service details with the funeral home employees. He just got into a heated exchange over the seating and the flowers. (Was seating for sixty, not sixteen guests that hard to figure out? Not to mention, the wreaths were the wrong design and wrong types of flowers. Black and white like chess pieces! Was everyone in the funeral industry mind numbingly stupid from all of that formaldehyde?)  
Not to mention apartment hunting was not an easy task. Just as Freddie suspected, moving to Manhattan was not going to happen. There were no available apartments in his price range. Right now with the way things were going, he would be caught between moving him and Gene to a refrigerator box in the Lower East Side or a creepy white pedo van in the Village.  
He checked Brooklyn next. It would be just his luck that the most available and affordable listings were in Flatbush, the old neighborhood. Was Fate having such a laugh about that one. Well his mother didn't live there anymore and he hoped that no one would remember him. Aside from knowing him as the Grandmaster Chess Champion and maybe the Grand Failure Chess Crack Up of course.  
True, Florence and Anatoly left their son and his guardian in a position that could be considered comfortable. Gene inherited a trust fund which couldn't be accessed until he turned 21. They were also given an inheritance which couldn't be described as wealthy but certainly would help contribute to day to day expenses, but that was far from saying that Freddie could freely pick and choose just anywhere that they could live.  
All of the stress and grief was wrecking havoc on Freddie's health. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since before Florence and Anatoly's deaths. His nerves were frayed and his head and stomach ached like a wire was inside his body and kept growing tighter. He kept fighting the urge to explode with rage. He sighed and silently repeated to himself, "Don't break down. This isn't about you. This is about them. Gene needs you," as he unlocked the door.

Freddie returned, his arms loaded with bags of Chinese food. The day before the funeral and he sure didn't feel like cooking. He figured better leave that to the good folks at Emperor's Wok. He unlocked the door just as Gregor finished telling Gene a story. When he reached the end, Gene did something that he hadn't done in two weeks: he smiled and then laughed. Gene looked up as his guardian entered. "Hey Uncle Freddie, Gapa was telling me about when Mom was a kid."  
"Great," Freddie said. Yeah all four years of memories must be worth telling, Freddie thought sarcastically. He put the food away in the fridge (Finally, the casseroles were gone either eaten or given away. Good thing the Molokovs, Gregor, and Anika were there to help eat them.) and cleaned up the kitchen angrily putting dishes away.  
It bothered him that Gene was laughing and that it was Gregor that was making it happen.  
"Are you alright, Uncle Freddie?" Gene asked. "Do you need any help in there?"  
"No I've got everything under control," Freddie said. "Just fine." Just because I have been here for almost two weeks now and I can't get you out of looking like the living dead and he has been here all of three days and he got you cracking a smile even laughing, no nothing's wrong at all.

Freddie rubbed his still aching forehead after supper and he cleaned up again. Then he sat down on the couch and tried to distract himself by reading the newspaper. Gregor sat next to the chess board as Gene sat next to his guardian looking between them like he sensed something was wrong. Anika kept herself silent and read a European fashion magazine. "Eugene, would you like to play a game and hear a story?" Gregor invited.  
Good luck with that, Freddie thought. Gene sat across from his grandfather as Freddie's mouth dropped open in shock. Gene took the first move as the game began. What just happened here? His godson, who he had wanted to share his love of the game and show him all his best moves, almost never wanted to play chess. Who his parents said had other interests besides chess now wanted to play?  
And with his grandfather, Gregor Vassy the guy who thought the concept of freedom was more important than his daughter and only reunited with her as an adult woman?  
As they played, Gregor told his grandson the origins of chess about how the game began with the two rival brothers. Gene was fascinated. "Is that really how the game began, Uncle Freddie?"  
"It's one of the stories," Freddie said. He looked at his watch. "Now come on, we have a big day tomorrow and you have to go to bed."  
"He can stay awake a little longer," Gregor said.  
"No he can't," Freddie said tightly.  
"He can speak for himself," Gene said. He got up and hugged his uncle and grandfather and then said goodnight to Anika.

Freddie wondered, when did this happen? Before he was Cool Uncle Freddie, the guy who Gene hung around with because he was fun. The one that he confided in when he couldn't talk to his parents. The one who always showed up with the right present, the right bit of advice, or knew the right places to take him. The one who could always cheer him up or make him laugh with some off color comment or story. Someone who was less than a father and more than an older brother.  
Now Freddie was the stressed out, overworked, boring, exhausted, , burnt out drudge who cooked the meals, cleaned the house, worried about money, and set the rules. His role as the stress relieving fun relative with no responsibilities but a strong emotional tie to the boy had been taken over by someone else and he didn't like it.  
He wondered if Florence and Anatoly ever felt that way about him, if instead of a close friend and guide to the little guy, they felt that he was an unwanted intrusion in their lives. If they did, they never showed it and after he cleaned himself up, they liked having him around. But then again, they liked him. The three of them had an unshakable bond. He couldn't exactly say the same between himself and Gregor.  
He wondered how Florence and Anatoly did it. They made parenthood seem so easy, but then again they had their reasons. Anatoly was an old hand to raising children. They had both survived some traumatic issues in their recent past so the worry of extended work hours, scraped knees and the flu, car and house payments seemed minor in comparison. Most importantly, there were two of them and only one of Freddie. They had the luxury of saying "Okay, I am having a bad day. I'm done. Your turn. Better yet, let's get Freddie to come over and watch him for a few hours." Freddie didn't have that and didn't trust anyone else to fob this huge responsibility onto and that included Gregor. It was a responsibility that he wasn't completely sure that he was ready for. But he was damn sure that Gregor was not going to know that.

Freddie turned to Anika. Even though the nurse spoke some English and contributed to her caregiving duties, she usually maintained a silence most of the time. "Anika, I could make up some excuse to get you to leave the room but I need to talk to your patient alone, so can you please leave us?" He wanted to be sure that she understood. "You, other room? Leave us alone?"  
"Oh yes, I leave room," Anika agreed. She nodded. "I go to kitchen." She walked inside the kitchen leaving the two men to themselves. Gregor looked down at his daughter and son in law's chess board and not at their friend. "You teach him to play?" Gregor asked.  
"No, he's not interested," Freddie said.  
"Maybe it's not the game, but the lessons from the teacher that do not interest him," the old man suggested.  
Freddie glowered. "Remind me again when your flight out is going to be."  
"It is the 18th," Gregor said. "Two days from now."  
"Can't come fast enough as far as I'm concerned," Freddie muttered knowing full well that the old man could hear him. 

Gregor played in silence, until Freddie slammed his fist in the middle of the board. "I know what you're trying to do to that kid and you can forget it!"  
Gregor stared stone faced at the younger man. "I am mourning my daughter and son in law and trying to provide comfort for my grandson."  
"No you're trying to make up for lost time with Gene that you didn't have with Florence," Freddie said. "Well you can't!"  
"You always suspect conspiracy and ulterior motives from everyone, Frederick," Gregor said evenly. "It makes you a good chess player, but a terrible human being anywhere else."  
Freddie was aghast. "I'm a terrible human being? What do you call abandoning your daughter when she was four years old, sending her to some other country on her own to be adopted by strangers, only to reunite with her again as an adult almost thirty years later?"  
"I was trying to keep Florence safe and I was in prison for a number of those years," Gregor insisted. "I wanted her to have a better life than one under Communism in Hungary! I wanted her to be safe and free!"  
"She didn't need safety and freedom more than her father," Freddie argued. "Why didn't you come with her? Why was fighting some revolt more important to you than your own daughter? She could have come here with you, but she didn't. She came here alone! Fuck, do you know how often she woke up screaming from nightmares? She barely spoke Hungarian, the kid knows it better than she did, but every time she spoke Hungarian in her sleep I knew that she was having another nightmare! She spent many years researching, wondering where you were, hoping that some day, she would get to Budapest to find you!"  
"She found me and I am here," Gregor said.  
"You're here now and she needed you then!" Freddie shot back. "You can't make up for that! Gene is not Florence and you can't change the past with him!"

Gregor glared at him and said icily. "I have made marny mistakes in my life and I regret them. You're right, I do not know how many times my daughter woke up with nightmares about Budapest and our separation. But, I do know how many times that she told me about you. She told me how often you would say some careless remark that actually hurt her! How you once taunted her by asking if her father were dead or in the KGB! How often you used her and put your needs over hers and how you treated her as though she were your servant! Her marrying Anatoly Sergievsky was the best thing that happened to her, because to me it meant that she would never marry you! And somehow you still remained in her life! I remember that and more importantly I remember that night before your final game in 1986!"  
"I don't know what you are talking about," Freddie said.  
Gregor shook his head. "Of course, you would not. You were, as they say here, high out of your mind as a kite on cocaine, amphetamine, and who knew what else!"  
"I was in training for the tournaments, I had to stay awake," Freddie said desperately.  
Gregor continued. "And you came to this house! The door was locked and you kept screaming to be let in! You screamed, yelled, threatened to murder everyone in the house! I was there, Frederick inside that house. My daughter was in tears. You broke her heart! My grandson was afraid of you, his beloved Uncle Freddie! My son in law called the police telling them to come and get his best friend, his best friend, those were his exact words! I could not believe that all they gave you was one night in a jail cell to sleep it off."  
"Well I was punished the next day wasn't I?" Freddie shot back. "After that match, the whole world knew that my career was over! No one wanted to watch me play Battleship let alone chess!"  
"That is all that concerned you," Gregor snapped.  
"No but it is what I didn't get back," Freddie reminded him. "Florence and Anatoly forgave me!"  
"And I still don't understand why," Gregor said. "I still don't know why they allowed you to remain their friend. Nor, do I understand why they named you of all people Eugene's guardian! I would challenge it if I was in a position to do so!" He doubled over in a cough.

Despite their testy argument, Freddie patted the old man on the back. It didn't take a medical expert to guess why Gregor Vassy was not going to challenge Freddie's guardianship of Gene. "How long do you have?"  
"Maybe six months, maybe a year," Gregor said.  
"No longer," Freddie asked. Gregor's long face told him everything that he needed to know. Freddie's voice was less accusatory and more hoarse. "That's another reason that I don't want you in Gene's life. He just lost his parents and he's shattered. I'm doing everything I can to try to put him back together. He bonds with you and then you die too, I will never be able to put him back together again."  
"Hurt will be there and will remain, no matter how often you try to protect your child from it," Gregor said sagely.

Freddie was about to answer back when Gene called from upstairs. "Uncle Freddie, can I talk to you for a minute?"  
"Sure thing, Geno," Freddie said. "I'm coming right up."  
Freddie entered the boy's room. "What's up, Buddy Boy?"  
Gene held his breath trying to figure out how to ask this. "Well, I was wondering, do you think we can invite Gapa to stay a little longer?"  
"How much longer?" Freddie asked warily.  
"I don't know a few more days, months or years?" Gene asked sheepishly. Freddie was about to say something, but Gene continued. "I mean hear me out, he's old and shouldn't he be with us? We can take care of him!"  
"You are aware that your grandfather is not a dog right?" Freddie asked dryly. "He can't stay with us. He's going back to Hungary."  
"Why not?" Gene asked.  
"Well he is not family," Freddie began  
"-He is to me," Gene reminded him. "He's my grandfather!"  
"We don't have enough room," Freddie said.  
Gene waved around the house. "He can stay in the guest room. That's where he's been sleeping anyways."

"No, son, I meant we're not going to have enough room," Freddie winced realizing that the moment to tell him had come. "Well I was going to save telling you until after the funeral, but we are moving."  
"What?" Gene asked ashen. "No, I don't want to move! When?"  
"Probably at the end of the summer so you can start at your new school," Freddie said.  
Gene looked around starting to cry. "Where are we moving to?"  
"It looks like Brooklyn now," Freddie said.  
Gene shook his head and began to hyperventilate. "Why can't we stay here? This is our house!"  
"No Gene," Freddie tried to explain. "This isn't my house. This is your parents's house and they aren't here. I'm just a guest here. I don't own this house!"  
"Well can't you buy it, didn't Mom and Dad leave enough money for that?" Gene asked. "Maybe even rent to own?"  
Freddie shook his head. "Even if I combined everything your parents left us including your trust fund, I could probably afford the down payment and maybe less than one year in taxes, but I couldn't afford to keep it up. I don't make as much money by myself as they did together."  
"What about a bank," Gene suggested. "Couldn't you get a loan or something?"  
"You clearly have never met my credit history," Freddie said.  
"You said that you'd never leave me," Gene said.  
"And I'm not," Freddie said. "That's why we're moving so we can be together!"  
"I don't want to move," Gene said stubbornly. "Mom and Dad lived here!"  
"I know, I know," Freddie said. Privately, he regretted that Florence and Anatoly decided to donate their bodies to science. If they were going to be buried, at least Gene would have a place to visit and cry over. Now he would have to divide his time between various hospitals, research centers, universities, the Mayo Clinic, the Human Genome Project etc. But then again maybe it was better that there wasn't a specific place, otherwise Gene would never want to leave it. "I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice."  
"It's not fair," Gene said.  
No it's not, Freddie wanted to say. Fair would be your parents were here and I wouldn't have to do this at all! But he didn't want to say it.

"Well okay," Gene said. "But can't Gapa at least move with us?"  
"Gene I said no," Freddie said. "Looking for a two room is hard enough, a three is damn near impossible! He also needs round the clock care. I can't give it to him because I have to work. You can't because you're in school and I can't afford a nurse."  
"Maybe he could live in a nursing home that wouldn't be too bad," Gene said.  
"No," Freddie repeated more sharply. "There's enough going on here without having to be responsible for a sick old man! He's going back to Hungary and we are going to Brooklyn end of discussion!"  
Gene scoffed his mouth dropped open. "Yeah, some discussion! You want me to give up everything, my parents, my house, my friends, my school, and now my grandfather! Mom and Dad's funeral hasn't even happened yet and you are acting like you want me to forget all about them!"  
"No, that's not it," Freddie said. "I'm just trying to make things better for you!"  
"Well you suck at it," Gene shot back.  
Freddie restrained himself from slapping the boy. "If I had talked to my mother like you just talked to me, I would not have been able to stand up afterwards! Now grow up and stop acting like a little kid!"  
"When you stop acting like a selfish jerk," Gene shouted.  
Freddie rubbed his hands through his hair and shouted. "For the love of fucking Hell, Florence why do you always have to turn everything into a fight?"  
Gene blinked in surprise and stared open mouthed. Freddie sighed realizing what he just said. "Gene, I meant, Gene." Freddie rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Geno. I'm just really tired and under a lot of pressure. I'm just so tired. Anyway, we have the funeral tomorrow and I just-let's not talk about it anymore tonight alright?"  
"Fine," Gene said. He plopped down on the bed.

Freddie wearily tread down the stairs. Gregor continued to play chess, but his expression showed that he heard much of what was said upstairs. "It appears that I am not the only one who has trouble separating my daughter from my grandson."  
Freddie sighed. "Your plane leaves in two days. Make sure, you're on it."  
"Of course," Gregor said stiffly. "You move, I move. In each game of chess, there means one less."

They say never speak ill of the dead. They never say that about the dead's living best friends. 

To their credit, the people at the Vassy-Sergievsky Memorial Service had nothing but kind words to say about the Guests of Honor. Florence and Anatoly had a wide circle of friends, co-workers, students, neighbors, acquaintances at Gene's school, and many colleagues from the chess world that came to pay respects. They filled the halls with such accolades about what brilliant wonderful people Florence and Anatoly were, such a wonderful couple, great parents, bright scholars and players.  
By the time, the respects were paid, the couple were practically elevated as candidates for sainthood. The adulation would have made Freddie sick to his stomach, if it didn't remind him that yes, they were great not perfect people, but great people, that they were deeply loved by everyone around them especially their son and best friend, and that their departure left such a tremendous impact and void that Freddie didn't yet know how either he or Gene were getting out.

When it came time for the ceremony itself, many expected Freddie to give the eulogy. Many heads were turned in his direction probably expecting a tribute that was filled with raw emotion, black comedy, and a typical Freddie Trumper display of rage. What they didn't expect and what they got was: nothing at all.  
Many others gave speeches about their lives as friends, parents, community members, professors, etc. The Arbiter, Constantin Stannos, gave an impassioned eulogy about the couple not just as chess champions but human beings. Letters poured out from all over the world. Even Bobby "Fucking" Fischer came out of his seclusion to pen a tribute to the couple for Time Magazine, calling them the "Royal Couple of the Chess and Academic World". But from their closest friend, Frederick Trumper, came: nothing. Well Freddie Trumper was never accused of being predictable.

Freddie couldn't express any words how much Florence and Anatoly meant to him. Those words would be meaningless. They saved his life when he needed them, pulled him through the abyss, and helped him become the better man that had been lurking inside the tantrum throwing self absorbed monster image that he created. They were the only real family that Freddie ever had, his best friends, his brother and sister by heart, and the better parts of himself. No Freddie could never say any of that and not in front of these people whom Florence and Anatoly were simply "a guy at work," "my next door neighbor," "the mother of my son's friend," "my professor my freshman year," "a friend of a friend," or "someone I played chess with once." Freddie long ago lost his taste for making a performance and no longer had it in himself to oblige.

As the main ceremony ended, people began to either leave or congregate into the adjoining room for the reception. Freddie and Gene stood at the front shaking hands with well wishers. When the line finally finished, Freddie squeezed his godson on the shoulder so they could join the reception. Downstairs, Gene reluctantly joined some friends close to his own age including his half sisters and a boy that Freddie assumed was Nathan because he looked so much like Emna. The boy picked at his food and offered very little in the way of conversation. If they weren't in public, Freddie would have wept in empathy at the boy's expression surrounded by people, yet feeling all alone

Freddie milled around the crowd not really participating in discussions. He could tell the way they pointed at him or glanced at his direction, that he was the frequent topic of conversation. From their expressions, the opinion was not favorable.  
He stopped at a crowd of women and heard one of them that he recognized as Emma Caswell talking in a loud whisper, "How could he not say anything and just think, they left him with him. Can you believe it?"  
"From what I heard about him I wouldn't leave a cat that I don't like to him let alone my child. I thought they were smarter than that," another woman said. Her red hair reminded Freddie that she was "Laundry Offering Karen."  
A brunette woman, Freddie met so many people that he couldn't remember her name, Trudy? Tracy? shrugged. "Maybe there's a reason." She leaned closer for a scandalous whisper. The other women leaned closer and so did Freddie trying to get a listen. "I mean do we know for sure that Gene is really Anatoly's son?"  
"Claire," Emma said in shock (Claire, that's her name! Close enough, Freddie thought.) "This is their funeral."  
Claire shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that, no disrespect to Florence but maybe that Freddie bedded and abandoned Florence and Anatoly stepped in."  
Freddie rolled his eyes and couldn't resist. "Or maybe he actually is Anatoly's son and you gossiping bitches need to shut the hell up, especially at the funeral of the people you're talking about."  
The three women looked at him realizing that he heard every word. Their stunned and insulted expressions revealed that Freddie was not going to be getting any new casseroles any time soon.

Freddie then wandered to the direction of a couple of chess colleagues that he used to know. One sipped calmly from a cup of frozen yogurt when the other one nodded over at Freddie. "That better not be strawberry or blueberry. You never know what signals you might be receiving." The other one at first didn't get it until his friend gestured behind him. He then looked at Freddie, then nodded like he got it. The two laughed as the other one turned to Freddie. "Would you like to check it?"  
Freddie gave a sarcastic laugh. Oh my God, that is so funny, he thought, I never heard a joke at my expense before! Fuck you!  
Freddie felt his head throb with pain and that invisible wire inside his body tighten. He wanted to be alone away from these people, the majority of them judgemental assholes, sycophants, and gossips! He was drained and wanted to get away from people who asked what he was going to do next and judging him for whatever he answered.  
He left the reception room and wandered into the main room.

The service area was empty as Freddie shut the door. All of the chairs were laid out and set aside by mourners. Portraits of Florence Vassy and Anatoly Sergievsky, two individual and one from their wedding, faced their grief stricken friend. The wreath that Freddie finally successfully ordered lay draped underneath the couple, white and black roses intertwined around a ribbon with their names in glitter. The ribbon also included images of a black king and white queen.  
Freddie approached the memorial like a penitent pilgrim approaching an altar and begging for atonement and forgiveness. He felt ridiculous talking to thin air. He was a raised, but lapsed Jew but now currently an Atheist. Florence and Anatoly Vassy-Sergievsky were not on a cloud somewhere, or in another world, or in some collective unconscious that the living didn't have access to. They were dead, pure and simple. Still Freddie was under a lot of stress and he needed a few minutes to unload.

"Hey, Florence, Anatoly," He said. "How did you like the flowers? It took a while to get him. The florist is an idiot. Florence, you should have straightened them out-I mean would have- well you know what I meant.  
All your friends are out there. Christ, you should hear the stuff they say about you. I can't believe how many friends-how wide a circle you had and many loved you. It makes me wonder how you could make time with a creep like- well I mean keep certain people in your life when by rights you should have moved on from-them.  
How's Gene doing? He's okay or rather trying to be, going to be. No, he's not okay. He's ripped apart. Every once in awhile, I see glimpses of that sweet smart kid that he used to be but it's gone. He's sad, depressed, lonely. He misses the two of you and I don't blame him. We had our first fight yesterday, and I don't know what to do for him. I don't know if we should stay here or move, whatever decision I make could ruin him for the rest of his life! I'm not ready for this and I'm scared to death.  
You two were the smartest people I ever knew, still are, but how could you be so fucking stupid? How could you be so stupid to choose me as Gene's guardian? It's not like you don't know me. I'm selfish, arrogant, and immature. You won't believe the stuff that comes out of my mouth, well I mean you heard it many times. I'm a mess on good days. Gene gets close to me and he might turn into the antisocial tantrum throwing train wreck that I used to be and am fighting not to be. He does that and it will be your fault!  
In fact I hate you two so fucking much right now! I hate you, how could you leave turn that wonderful little boy into an orphan? How could you leave me knowing how much you meant to my life? You saved my life and believed in me! Now, no one does! I have nobody now except that kid, that kid that's yours! It should be me there instead of you! No one would care if Freddie Trumper died, but they do care that you two did! Do you have any idea how much I love you and I hate you right now! I love you and I hate you and I miss you!"

In a blind rage of fury, Freddie picked up an urn from the ground and threw it at the memorial. With a clunk, it fell to the floor. Freddie stomped over to the memorial and picked up the portraits ripping them into little parts. When that wasn't enough, he tore the roses off the wreath and tore them with his bare hands. It didn't matter that his hands bled from the thorns. He continued to cut the flowers off, peeling off petals and destroying the branches.  
His rage continued as he stood up and picked up one of the chairs and threw it down. Then he tossed another one to a wall and kicked another down. He wanted to destroy anything and everything around him, until his anger subsided until he couldn't feel anything anymore.

Svetlana Molokov walked inside the service area remembering that she left her purse inside. She stood outside the door hearing the sounds of shouting and things bumping against the wall. She opened the door in surprise to see Freddie throwing things and screaming in rage like an animal gone wild. "Frederick," she said in surprise. Freddie turned at the sound of his name. He panted from the exertion but stared at the Russian woman like he didn't know who she was and had mentally departed from this world.  
He then walked slowly to another chair and put his hands on it and though he were trying to regain his bearings. But the fury continued to remain inside and he kicked the chair down and returned to his rage.  
Svetlana left the room terrified. She didn't want to embarrass Freddie but she knew that he needed help. She casually asked the first person that she ran into if there was a medical doctor at the reception. The woman pointed to the older gray haired Indian man in the far right corner, "Dr. Singh" she said. Svetlana gathered through the crowd politely muttering excuse me as she reached him. She tapped the doctor on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow. She then approached Gregor and Anika, figuring that Dr. Singh might need some assistance. She put her hand on the nurse's shoulder and whispered, "Freddie," then nodded towards the door. Anika followed the retreating doctor.  
Svetlana also knew that she had to send for someone else, the only person that would make Freddie see reason and bring him back to reality. She felt guilty about sending him into possible danger, but knew that it was the only way. She muttered to her daughter, "Katia, I need to talk to Eugene alone." Gene looked confused but followed his stepmother. "Come quick, it's an emergency. Freddie needs you."

Gene followed Dr. Singh, Anika, and Svetlana into the service area. Curiously, Alexander followed his wife. Freddie was no longer throwing things. Instead he was just screaming "Florence!" "Anatoly!" Over and over. Anika handed Singh a first aid kit which included a syringe, sedative, and needle. She prepared it and handed it to the doctor.  
"Madam, sir," Singh said to Anika and Ivan. "Hold him." Ivan waved Anika forward. Ivan sneaked up behind Freddie and grabbed him from behind as Anika grabbed him by the front holding him by the legs. Freddie struggled and screamed not words just noise. Singh put the needle to Freddie's arm.  
Freddie's screams began to get lower and devolved to moans. Singh and his two helpers separated from the patient to give him air. Freddie collapsed to the ground on his knees shaking but not saying anything, unable to move, unable to cry, unable to do or say anything just numb.

"Uncle Freddie," a voice called. Freddie looked up and saw Gene staring at him but boldly walking towards him. Gene sat down next to him. "Uncle Freddie, it's going to be okay right?"  
Gene wrapped one arm around his uncle's shoulder and then hugged him. Freddie pulled away as if seeing him for the first time. Suddenly, the dam broke and Freddie started crying. "Gene, Gene, I'm here, Kiddo! I'm here!" The two hugged and sobbed into each other's arms. "It's okay. It's going to be okay because we got each other right, you and me?"  
"Yeah," Gene said. "You and me, forever!"  
"We don't have to leave if you don't want to," Freddie said. "I'll buy the house. I'll work two, three jobs to pay for it!"  
"I don't care where we live," Gene said. "As long as I'm with you okay?"  
Freddie nodded as the two hugged. "Okay."

Freddie woke up after what seemed like several hours. He started when he realized that he was in Florence and Anatoly's master bedroom. He vaguely remembered leaving the funeral and Ivan, Anika, Irina, and Svetlana guiding him into the room and Freddie collapsing on the bed.  
Freddie looked around. The right side, obviously Anatoly's side had his reading glasses and a book that was left on the same page. Florence's side also had a book but some hand cream. The book shelf contained some handwritten notes and a few books on political science and mathematical theory. There were also some pictures on the wall of couples so he guessed they were meant to be romantic or erotic. Freddie could detect the faint odor of aftershave combined with lavender scented perfume. It was like they never left.

Confused, Freddie stumbled downstairs. The only person there was Irina and she was reading a book. "Hey, where is everybody?"  
Irina looked up. "Alexander is outside in front talking to Gregor. Anika went shopping. Katia and Gene are watching X Files upstairs."  
Freddie nodded. "And your Mom?"  
Irina pointed at the backyard. "She is outside smoking a cigarette. It is not good for her, but she uses it as coping mechanism. It provides emotional outlet to help her display negative emotions."  
Freddie looked closely at her. "You're in school right?" She nodded. "What are you studying?"  
"Psychology," Irina answered.  
"Figures," Freddie said. He then opened the door to the back to see Svetlana.

"Hey," Svetlana jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice. "Mind if I have one?"  
Svetlana handed him a cigarette and politely lit it for him. "I didn't know that you smoked."  
"I gave it up years ago," Freddie said. He gave up a lot of things years ago.  
Freddie smoked a long drag in thought. "Um, I just wanted to thank you for helping me out back there. They told me that you sent for the doctor, Anika, and Gene, especially sending for Gene. He broke me out."  
"Well I knew the only people who really could break you out were Florence and Anatoly. They were unavailable, so I sent for next best thing."  
"You sent for the best thing," Freddie reassured her. They smoked in silence as the sun set when Freddie sighed. "I suppose you are going to join the chorus of many who think that I shouldn't adopt Gene."  
"Actually, I was not," Svetlana said.  
"Really you don't think that Gene is better off living with you, your husband, and kids in Russia?" Freddie asked.  
"No and do you know why?" Svetlana said. "Because they did not ask me." Freddie was confused, so Svetlana elaborated. "You saw how many people were at their funeral. They could have picked anyone to be that boy's guardian. But they chose you. Frederick, you weren't the only choice, you were the best choice."  
"You really don't know me that well," Freddie said.  
"No I do not," Svetlana agreed. "But I knew Anatoly so well and like to think I knew Florence. They loved that boy more than anyone on this earth and they would not leave him with just anyone if they didn't think he was capable of of it."  
"I don't know if I'm ready," Freddie said sadly.  
"Do you love that boy?" Svetlana asked.  
"More than anything," Freddie answered.  
"Then you are ready," Svetlana said.

Two days later, Gene and Freddie saw their guests off at the airport. Freddie finished saying goodbye to the girls, then turned to Molokov. "Are there any words that you would like to give to our mutual friend?" Molokov asked in a tone that indicated that he would tell him.  
"Yeah," Freddie said. "You can tell him to go to Hell and if he ever comes near me or my godson, I will personally escort him there myself." Molokov nodded suppressing an amused grin.

Freddie handed Svetlana a manila envelope with papers inside. "This is all the work about yours and the girl's inheritance. If you have any questions, the lawyer's number is inside."  
"Thank you, Frederick," Svetlana said.  
Freddie shrugged. "This kind of feels like a severance. I mean I doubt that you and I will have much of a chance to hang out or get together or anything. We don't have much in common."  
"Except them," Svetlana nodded as Gene, Irina, and Katia agreed to IM, email, and chat with each other. Katia and Gene named several science fiction and fantasy chat rooms that they were on and agreeed to meet at them.  
Freddie nodded. "Yeah except them." He couldn't resist. "And well if you want to return to the U.S. and get a coffee, share a drink, or a bed you know where to find me." He winked and gave her a put on smile.  
Svetlana frowned, but then gave a slightly amused smile. "Shut up, Freddie." She said. Okay, maybe the Russian Ice Queen was able to be thawed a degree or two.

Gene hugged his grandfather tightly. "Are you sure that you can't stay, Gapa?"  
Gregor smiled. "Would you move to Hungary, even though you are used to the United States?" Gene hesitated, but shook his head. "You're right. This is your home just like Hungary is mine. They aren't perfect, these countries but they are our home."  
Gene nodded as Gregor looked at him closely. "You are so like them. You have her eyes and her smile and you have his build. You also have their persistence, their spirit, their strength, and their good hearts. Use those traits, your adopted father will need every one of them."  
"I will Gapa," Gene promised.  
Gregor turned to Freddie. "Frederick, take care of my grandson much better than either you or I took care of my daughter."  
"I will Gregor," Freddie promised. Both he and Anika waved goodbye as they embarked the plane.

As Freddie and Gene watched the old man leave, Gene felt that another part of his life slipped away. He didn't want to still be mad at Freddie for moving them. Freddie had filled out the application and paid the fee and security deposit for an apartment in Flatbush. Logically, moving made sense. If they had to, they had to. But still Gene felt like huge parts of his life and identity were disappearing. Now his parents were gone and he was an orphan in the care if someone who while loved him was not a blood relative. His past was leaving him.  
Gene wasn't even sure who he was. He wasn't sure if he was still a Vassy or a Sergievsky without his parents. Even though, Freddie was going to adopt him(in the process of filling out the application), he didn't feel like a Trumper. This scared him. If he wasn't a Trumper and wasn't a Vassy or a Sergievsky anymore then who was he?

Author's Notes  
I intended this chapter to continue with their move to Brooklyn but this chapter got too long for that so I am saving it for the next one.  
Gene's nickname for Gregor, "Gapa," is a shortened version of the Hungarian word for grandfather "Yangapa." It makes sense that a little kid having trouble with the language would use a shorter version that would stick.  
The chapter quotes two songs "Black Hole Sun" by Soundgarden and "Get Off Of My Cloud" by The Rolling Stones  
Another bit of picking and choosing between versions of Chess. Some have it that Anatoly and Svetlana are childless, others that they have two daughters. I settled on him having two daughters to further emphasize his age difference from Freddie. Plus I loved the idea of Gene bonding with his half-sisters.  
Freddie mentioning that Gene knows Hungarian better than Florence is actually true that children pick up languages much faster than adults.  
Another Bobby Fischer reference that many far right figures actually admired him because of his controversial views. (This despite him being raised Jewish). However in Freddie's case, we learn that the admiration is unwarranted because the majority of his views were falsified, taken out of context, or said "when (he) was young stupid, insane, high off his gourd, out of his mind, and didn't know any better." We later see that this admiration really bothers and disturbs him and is a major contributor for him becoming a recluse  
Freddie mentally referring to Fischer as Bobby "Fucking" Fischer is a reference to the miniseries Feud: Bette and Joan when actress, Geraldine Page receives a phone call from Joan Crawford and is so stunned that she tells her husband, "It's Joan 'Fucking' Crawford!"  
I want to thank my reader, Kournikova for changing the trajectory of this fic. Originally, I was going to have it that Freddie is near broke and moves himself and Gene to Bedford-Stueyvesent (which we find is Freddie's old neighborhood and was Fischer's in reality) and is forced to work a second job to pay for Gene's tuition at a college preparatory school. Instead Kournikova suggested to spare then the financial constraints. I realized that she was right. Florence and Anatoly were planners and wouldn't leave their son and hand picked guardian in such a lurch. So even though they are far from wealthy, they are somewhat well off. I still want them to move to Freddie's old neighborhood, so I changed it to the slightly better off but still troubled Flatbush and that's mostly because of the lack of available apartments anywhere else in the city.


	3. Sacrificing The Pawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After moving to Flatbush, Gene and Freddie meet a former acquaintance of Freddie's and the reunion triggers memories of his past as a runaway, street kid, and teen prostitute.

Knight and Pawn  
A Chess Fanfic  
By Auburn Red

Chapter Three: Sacrificing The Pawn

Author's Note: Tic, Lady, and Kitten are original characters.  
Warning, this chapter has some Nonconsensual underage sex and some slight BDSM but I am keeping the description as brief as possible. It is not meant to titilate and it's clear that there is a violation. I don't care one way or another about such acts as long as it's mutual consent by both parties, but when it's one forcing themselves on the other is where I draw the line and that's what's happening here.

Freddie and Gene unpacked their items inside the small apartment, saying very little except these go in that room or put them in here.

Gene picked up another box of his possessions and walked into the room that he selected would be his. Because of the small size of the apartment, the majority of things from his and his parents' house had to be sold, given away, or replaced. Gene felt that his identity was disappearing, but he didn't want to tell his godfather that.  
Freddie really was trying to build a new life for them and the last thing that the boy wanted to do was make things more difficult for him. Since Freddie's outburst at the funeral, the two almost lived in a mutual silence almost walking on thin glass certain that eventually things would break. Mostly, they had a stiff politeness as though they were total strangers getting to know each other. Instead of a young boy and his parents' best friend that had known each other since the day the boy was born.

Gene opened the box and moved some of his personal effects into the dresser and on to the desk. He unpacked some items and removed the bubble wrap. He held up two figures, a Hungarian female doll and a nesting doll set of Russian male soldiers. He remembered when his father used a nesting doll of Soviet leaders to teach him about the history of his former country. That set was one of the many that was given away. Gene was reduced to these two figures, the Hungarian woman and the Russian soldiers. He insisted on keeping them at least. He unwrapped a framed photograph of him and his parents taken the previous year after one of his games. The three of them looked so happy at a moment that seemed a lifetime ago. He placed the photo between the two figures and absently sat down on his bed.

After about an hour of moving things around between the living room, kitchen, and his bedroom, Freddie realized that he hadn't seen Gene in awhile. He walked towards the boy's bedroom and knocked on the door. He casually opened the door and saw Gene sitting on his bed looking out the window. Freddie was about to make some sarcastic comment thanking him for all his help, but then he noticed the photograph between the two figures. He should have admonished him about living in the past, but he had no room to talk. In his bedroom, his chess set rested underneath the black king and the white queen from Anatoly and Florence's set. In between, lay a framed clipping of the US Vs. USSR match in Bangkok with a photograph of Anatoly and Freddie seated across from each other and Florence standing in between them.

Freddie cleared his throat and Gene looked up stunned. "Wanna take a break from all this packing dust?" He said. "I'm getting hungry."  
"Sure," Gene said. He stood next to his godfather.  
"I'll show you around," he offered. "I'm sure the neighborhood hasn't changed that much since I lived here, I mean apart from having more horseless carriages."  
Gene offered a thin smile but did not comment. Instead he followed his godfather out of the apartment and to the street. 

Freddie and Gene walked down the streets, eating hot dogs from a stand, as Freddie pointed out various landmarks that he remembered, but were mostly gone because of the passage of time. The old neighborhood really had changed.  
He pointed at a convenience store. "That used to be a corner drugstore. My mother used to make me buy cigarettes and liquor for her."  
"They didn't card you? You could do that and not get into trouble?" Gene asked.  
"Oh yeah," Freddie said. "I only got in trouble when she found the pack without a few smokes or a few sips in her liquor were gone."  
"How often did that happen?" Gene asked unable to suppress an amused grin at his godfather being so blunt about his past mischief.  
"Only when I got caught," Freddie said with a wink.

The two of them walked farther along until Freddie pointed at Erasmus Educational Campus. "That's where I went to school. You'll be going to the Academy."  
"If I get in," Gene said remembering the long application process of enrolling in the Academy of College Preparatory Studies. This process included at least three letters of recommendation, an essay, and an interview.  
"You'll get in. Your grades are terrific and you've been in activities since you were a kid. And not to brag but the name Frederick Trumper might have some bearing, maybe," Freddie said. "Molokov, Svetlana, and Leroy are sending their letters. The only things left are the essay and interview."  
"Well I don't mind writing the essay," Gene said. He loved writing and had a talent for it. "It's the subject that I am not sure about."  
"Too raw?" Freddie asked. Gene nodded. The essay topic, "Describe a difficult time in life and how did it help contribute to your path towards success," would have a different meaning for a newly made orphan who wasn't detached enough from the loss of his parents to put it to paper.  
"I don't want to get in because they feel sorry for me," Gene said.  
"Well why don't you write about your parents then?" Freddie suggested. "It doesn't have to be your life. They had some struggles and got through them and helped contribute to making you the kid that you are. Your dad got out of Russia and your Mom had to leave Hungary when she was a kid. Those are some pretty brave things."  
"What about you too?" Gene asked. "You got through your struggles too."  
Freddie dismissed himself with a wave of his hand. "Nah, I'm nothing to be proud of. Your folks now they were the brave ones. Write about them."  
"Okay," Gene said. "What about the interview?"  
"We'll go over the possible questions don't worry," Freddie said. "All you got to do is smile, suck up, and put on a performance."  
"I guess," Gene said.  
Freddie stopped in his tracks and looked Gene in the eye. "Look, Geno, if you want to get anywhere in life, you have to have three things: skill, talent, and wanting. You have the skills and talents and they'll help but not as much as wanting will. You have to go to that interview and act like you already have it. You want it don't you?"  
"Yes," Gene said. "Mom and Dad always wanted me to do my best.*  
And be normal, a voice seemed to admonish Freddie from beyond. He silently begged that voice to shut the fuck up.  
"And you, you want me to?" Gene asked. "After all, you never went to college. You dropped out of high school."  
Because they don't give scholarships to street kids, Freddie thought to himself. "Yeah and I had my chess career to fall back on, but it was a different time. Your folks both went to college and did alright. Yeah, I want the best for you. You need to do better than just getting by. You need to be the best and have those opportunities that I didn't get. You want that right?"  
"I want that," Gene said uncertain.

The two walked past a group of kids that judging by their grungy clothes were probably street kids. " Hey mister you got any money? one asked.  
"No I don't," Freddie said sternly. "Get a job."  
"Uncle Freddie," Gene said embarrassed by his uncle's blunt rudeness. He was about to see if he had any change in his wallet when Freddie stopped him. "Don't. Just get out of here," he ordered the kids.  
The street kids glared and ran off. Some shoved Freddie and a few gave him the finger as they left.  
"They might have killed us," Gene pointed out.  
"Nah," Freddie said. "They were just panhandling. If they wanted to rob us, they would have done it right when we got there. Don't look them in the eye or give them anything. It encourages them."  
"Can't we help them?" The boy asked.  
"If they need help, they have shelters for that," Freddie said. Looking at those kids made Freddie uncomfortable. He saw them retreat and head for where he thought would be the park, under the bridges, in an alley, or inside the subway tunnels, where they would no doubt sleep for the night. 

Looking at the street kids made Freddie uncomfortable. He was about to suggest that he and Gene head back to the apartment when he heard a familiar strongly Puerto Rican combined with Brooklyn accent call out, "Brain? Brainiac?" At first Freddie ignored it until he heard the voice more insistent call. "Freddie Trumper?"  
Freddie turned around to see a tall dark skinned man with a very short slicked back hair. He was dressed all in black and his Roman collar gave no doubt as to his profession. Freddie couldn't resist a sarcastic comment, "Am I late for Mass, Fadda? I'm not even Catholic."  
"It's me, Brain," the priest laughed. Freddie looked closely at him as a vague and unpleasant memory grew larger. The cassock and short hair threw him off but Freddie recalled longer black hair, dirty bell bottom jeans, tight shirts and occasionally nice three piece suit when their wearer had to go out to entertain. Freddie's confused expression changed to recognition and a smile. "Tic is that you?"  
"None other," Tic said. The two warmly shook hands. Freddie turned to Gene. "Oh Gene this is-uh" Then he remembered he never knew Tic's real name.  
"Dominic Luna," Tic supplied. "Well, Father Dominic Luna. It's nice to meet you, Gene."  
Gene shook this man's hand. He had never heard of him and wondered if he knew his mother. "You too, Father."  
"Call me Father D. All my kids do." Dominic warmly replied.  
"I thought you priests didn't go in for that kind of thing," Freddie quipped.  
Dominic pointed at a white building a few blocks away. "I run a youth center for the neighborhood kids." He turned to Gene. "You might like it. We do different things classes, counseling services, games, tutoring, movie nights, dances, even some trips. It's completely non-denominational and helps keep kids from getting into trouble."  
"Sounds like fun," Gene said. "I'll have to check it out, Father D."  
"So what are you doing here?" Dominic asked.  
"Uh we just moved back here," Freddie said shortly. He motioned to the apartment in which they lived.  
"Well how would you like to get reacquainted?" Dominic invited. "There's a cafe over on the corner.". Freddie was about to refuse, but shrugged. They followed the priest to the cafe.

The three drank their orders, Dominic a black coffee, Freddie a latte, and Gene a Coke while Freddie skeptically looked his old friend, acquaintance really, up and down. "I just can't believe that you of all people became a man of the cloth, Tic. That wasn't exactly the direction that you were heading for the last time I saw you."  
Dominic laughed. "Not even close. I spent some time in prison."  
"For what" Gene asked.  
"Well," Dominic began but Freddie cleared his throat and shook his head. His expression said 'don't say anything.' Dominic said, "Lots of things, let's just say we had a troubled past and leave it at that. Anyway, while in prison, I cleaned up my act and got reacquainted with Jesus."  
"Yeah, Tic, I bet you met lots of guys there named Jesus," Freddie mocked.  
"Never changed," Dominic laughed. "Still the Brain with the Mouth."  
"Why do you guys call each other Tic and Brain?" Gene asked.  
"Well back then we didn't really call each other by our names," Dominic explained. "In fact we barely knew them."  
"I was Brain or Brainiac for obvious reasons," Freddie boasted.  
"And my name Tic was a joke about my real name," Dominic said.  
"Tic?" At first Gene was confused but then figured the pun out. "Oh Luna...tic."  
"You're a smart one," Dominic said. "We didn't know each other's names but I tell you, Gene the second I saw your father-"  
"-Oh he's not my father," Gene corrected.  
There was an awkward moment but Dominic continued. "Well when I saw Freddie Trumper on television in his first professional match in what '77?"  
"'76," Freddie corrected.  
"Yeah, I knew that he was our Brain," Dominic said. "He used to go to the chess games in the parks and play against the people there and often won quite a bit of money for it."  
Gene turned to his godfather amused. "You were a hustler."  
"Hustler such a dirty word," Freddie scoffed. "I prefer to think of it as perfecting my craft against people who were too stupid to understand the basic rules and they had been had by a kid."  
"He's always like that," Gene said apologetically.  
"I know," Dominic said.  
Freddie rolled his eyes at this conspiracy at his expense. "Anyway it was a long time ago and it was a way of playing and dealing with-a lot of things."  
"What kind of things? Gene asked. He could tell that Dominic and Freddie were trying to hide something, something that made Freddie intensely uncomfortable.  
"Just things anyway it was like I said a long time ago," Freddie threw down money to pay for his and Gene's drinks. "We really have to go."  
"Well it was good seeing you again," Dominic said. "If either of you need to talk, you can reach me at either of these places." He handed them two cards, one for St. Michael's Catholic Church and another for The Starlight Youth Center. "It doesn't have to be confession. It can be just to talk."  
Freddie wondered if there was something in either his or Gene's demeanor that made him think that they needed to talk. Was there a quiet to Gene's voice, did Freddie seem fidgety and anxious? All true, but did it show? Or because Gene revealed that Freddie wasn't his father did Dominic suspect something unsavory about their relationship?  
"Thanks," Freddie said. He pointed outward. "Come on Geno."  
"How do you know that guy?" Gene asked.  
"Like I said it was a long time ago," Freddie answered evasively.  
"Did Mom know him or Dad?" The boy asked.  
"No it was before I met them," Freddie answered in a tone that indicated this conversation was over.

Later that night, Freddie sat in his bedroom drinking a glass of whiskey and trying to concentrate on a speed chess game against himself. Gene was in one of his quiet depressed moods so sat in his room, alternate music playing from behind the door. Freddie wondered if he was working on his essay.  
Freddie's mind was not on the board. He heard a clicking and buzzing sound. It was faint but persistent. It called to mind some of his matches where that noise was present. Was he being watched? Were there cameras in this apartment? Freddie wandered the room in a daze. The sound was getting on his nerves. He checked his desk, under the bed, the drawers anything. He then walked towards the window and noticed the venetian blind clicking against the window because of the A.C. The buzzing was from the digital clock on the table. Annoyed, Freddie unplugged the clock and stuck the blind out of direct breeze from the air conditioner.  
He rubbed his forehead. He hadn't had an episode like this in some time. He was judged well enough to even be off the meds a few years ago. Why were they starting up again? Was it Florence and Anatoly's deaths? The stress of becoming a single parent? The move? Seeing Tic Luna again? That certainly didn't help. The last thing that he needed to do was fall apart when he had a kid that needed and depended on him.

Freddie sat back down and tried to get his head back in the game but couldn't. Seeing those street kids and Tic Luna brought back many memories that were blocked out by years of winning, fighting, being a celebrity, and living with the fallout of fame. Freddie tapped on a pawn piece and felt his mind wander to a place that he didn't want to go.

1972- Freddie had been living on the streets for about three or four months now and he hated every single second of it. He hated the smells of garbage, urine, and God knows what else. He hated how his stomach pained him with hunger. He hated how adults just walked by him not giving a crap about the poor kid near them. He hated how the other street kids bullied him because of his small size and persistent cough. He hated how dirty his clothes, face, and hands were. He hated how much the cold bit. Even now, early December, the wind was bitterly reminding the 15 year old that as far as the universe was concerned he was small, insignificant, and likely to die without anyone caring.

He felt the money inserted inside the heel of his shoe. That was his only comfort: going to the chess boards in the park and hustling the old folks from their money. It was an easy task. Just hang around, pretending to be bored and looking for his grandfather. Strike a conversation with some old geezer and feign interest in playing, pretending like he didn't know the first thing about the game. Increase the geezer's confidence until the old guy wanted to bet money, then outwit him and collect his earnings. These were people who just played for fun, once a week. They didn't eat, sleep, and breathe chess like Freddie did so defeating them was all too easy. This week, he managed to collect $100.00. Not much in the final analysis but maybe enough to spend the night in some motel room where the staff weren't too particular about a teenager, especially a short one who looked a lot younger than his true age, checking in by himself and get some decent meals. He shivered, but first he needed sit in front of a fire for awhile.

He searched through the night underneath a bridge for a fire that didn't have too many people around it. He settled on the fire near an oil drum in which two women and a man were standing away from it preoccupied by their raucous conversation, loud laughter, drinks from a whiskey bottle, and the snort of cocaine.  
Freddie figured that they wouldn't notice if he warned himself for a few minutes. He gingerly approached the blaze and placed his hands over the flames. The warmth never felt so good. He sighed with relief as he rubbed his hands.  
"Hey what the fuck are you doing here?" A husky female voice asked. 

Freddie turned around to face the sound of the voice. The three people approached him. Freddie tensed for a fight. As they came closer, he realized that they were a lot younger than he thought they were. The woman who spoke looked to be about 16 or 17. She resembled a younger Cher with her tall willowy body, tanned skin, and long waist length black hair. She wore a skin tight blue thigh length dress and black ankle boots.  
The other girl looked a lot younger, perhaps Freddie's age or even younger. She was dressed in denim short shorts and a white floral pattern halter top. Her blond hair was tied into two curls sort of like a Cindy Brady or Buffy from A Family Affair gone bad. The man had long dark hair and wore a short tight red shirt and bell bottom jeans. He was clearly the oldest, maybe 18. None of them were really dressed for the cold except the girls wore tight hose on their legs and all three of them wore coats, the girls in fur and the guy in leather.  
Freddie felt self-conscious and like a little kid in his blue windbreaker jacket, button shirt, and blue jeans. His dark hair hung straight that gave him a helpless waif boy look. He wouldn't show his fear to them.

The older girl spoke again. "What the fuck are you doing here?"  
"Uh warming my hands by the fire," Freddie said in a way that indicated that it was obvious.  
"No, you're warming your hands by our fire," the guy said.  
"I didn't realize that fire belonged to anybody except to itself," Freddie quipped.  
"The fire belongs to this gang and if you want to warm your hands by it, then you have to be a member," the guy said.  
Freddie rolled his eyes and was about to get up to leave when the younger girl called to him. "Hey you in a gang? Why don't you go with them?" She had a high pitched Bronx accent.  
"No," Freddie answered. "I'm not much of a joiner."  
"Well you ought to be," the guy said. "If you're in a gang, we share our stuff, divide our money, and defend each other in a fight."  
"We're like family out here," the blond girl said. "The family that doesn't throw you out."  
"You're as good as dead out here if you aren't in one," the brunette girl said.  
Freddie shrugged, trying to hold on to his toughness. "How do I get in?"  
The three exchanged amused glances. "That's not up to us, Kid," the boy said. "That's up to Flip."  
"Flip?" Freddie asked.  
"Our leader," the brunette said. "He makes all final decisions. He'll be here any minute." The three sat on makeshift crates. 

The blond motioned him forward. "You can sit here if you want." She turned to her older friends. "Can he?"  
The older kids shrugged or nonchalantly nodded. "For now,"the guy said.  
Freddie slowly approached them and warily sat next to the blond. "Thanks I'm Fre-"  
"No," the man said. "We got no real names out here."  
"No names, no social security numbers, no ways of tracking us," the brunette added."No way of knowing who anyone is or was."  
"No way of getting caught," the blond said with a giggle.  
"So what do you call each other," Freddie asked. "Hey you?"  
The older two smirked and the blond laughed. "I'm Tic," the man said then he nodded to the brunette. "This is Lady." He then motioned to the blond. "She's Kitten. What do we call you except Shrimp?"  
"Which in our line of business is not a good name," Lady said with a naughty laugh. Kitten joined in hysterically.  
Freddie thought of the one talent that he had that helped him survive, his most valuable asset and the one that could help one day pull him off the streets. His ability to play chess required skill, intellect, planning, and clear headedness. "Brain, call me Brain."  
"Smart one huh?" Tic asked amused.  
"Get money hustling the oldsters at the chess boards," Freddie bragged.  
Tic, Lady, and Kitten laughed out loud. "We don't need a chess player!" Lady mocked.  
"We ain't exactly going to a library," Kitten quipped.  
"Seriously, what does that do for us?" Tic asked

Freddie was about to answer when someone approached them. Lady's cynical frown changed to a seductive grin as she approached the newcomer. "Hey Flip," she said.  
The man gave Lady a deep kiss that lasted awhile. Then he gave Tic a hand clasp and Kitten a hug. He turned to Freddie. "Who the hell is this?"  
Freddie looked closely at the newcomer. He was older, early or mid twenties, maybe. He had long dark hair down to his shoulders which hung loose unlike Tic's that hung in a ponytail. He also had a mustache. For being a street kid, he was dressed more neatly in a green suit and wide collar white shirt.  
Tic nodded at Freddie. "This here is Brain. He wants to join the gang."

Flip looked Freddie up and down in a very leering manner that instantly made Freddie instantly draw back. "And what can you do for our gang, Brain? What are your talents?"  
"He's a chess player," Lady mocked causing the other two to laugh. "He hustles the chess games!"  
"What's so funny about that?" Flip asked.  
The three glances around. "This isn't exactly the place for chess, Flip," Tic said. "That's for prep school kids and old people."  
Freddie kept his eyes on Freddie invading his personal space. "Far as I'm concerned, it teaches observation, analytical skills, and the chance to outthink your enemies. Can you do all that, Brain?"  
"I always do," Freddie said determined.  
"How do you do in the hustling racket?," Flip asked.  
Freddie opened his shoe and took out the $100.00 "This answer your question?" He asked in a very cocky demeanor.  
Flip quickly grabbed the money from the younger boy's hands. Freddie tried to reach for it, but Flip held it over his head. "Think of it as your gang admission fee." He then divided the money into twenties for the others including himself, purposely saving Freddie's cut for last.  
"Hey I earned that," Freddie objected.  
"Now we all did," Flip jeered. He then grabbed Freddie by the throat. His affability disappeared into something cruel, possessive, and sinister. "First thing you learn is that you do not argue with me,got that?"  
Freddie was half tempted to punch the guy and steal his money back. But he realized that he wouldn't get very far. Besides it was his own fault for showing it off in the first place. He nodded.

"Now Brain you can hustle all you want during the day, but your real business is at night," Flip said and then nodded at the others. "Just like theirs."  
"So what you rob stuff?," Freddie asked.  
"Sometimes, but mostly Lady, Kitten, and I are in the selling business," Tic said.  
"Like what drugs?" Freddie inquired.  
"Yeah," Kitten said. "And our bodies."  
"So you're prostitutes," Freddie guessed. He turned to Flip. "And you're what a pimp?"  
"I prefer the term procurer," Flip said. "I make the arrangements, field the offers, and decide who gets in. You had sex right?"  
"Yeah," Freddie said in an all too quick tone.  
Flip clearly didn't believe him. He roughly reached into Freddie's pants and felt his crotch. Freddie tried to move, but Flip held him steady. "You move and I'll kill you!" He felt Freddie's penis. "Still soft. A virgin. We'll have to fix that." He let go of Freddie then beckoned him to follow. "Come on, you and I have work to do."  
The three prostitutes looked clearly uncomfortable. "Are you sure this is necessary?" Tic asked.  
"Come on, Flip, he's just a kid," Lady objected.  
"Are you gonna hurt him?" Kitten asked.  
"We need to get our money's worth," He grabbed Freddie's elbow and shoved him forward. "Come on kid. I am not a patient man!"  
Freddie was about to follow when Kitten held him by the elbow. "Just do whatever he wants. It's easier that way."

Freddie followed Flip into a studio apartment. Incense filled Freddie's nose as soon as they walked in. It was rinky dink, but compared to where Freddie had been sleeping, if might as well have been a palace. "How come you don't live out there like the others?" Freddie asked.  
"Because I'm slumming," Flip said. He turned on the lights. Freddie could see the abstract art that hung on the walls and a lava lamp sat on one table. In the middle of the apartment lay a revolving round bed and a couple of beanbag chairs strewn about the floor. Freddie noticed that Flip's closet was opened and he could see an Army jacket amongst the other clothes. He could make out the name Smith on the patch, but couldn't read the dog tags.  
"You were in 'Nam?" Freddie asked pointing at the jacket.  
"Hell and back," Flip answered shortly not looking in the young boy's direction. "You like Vanilla Fudge?"  
Freddie figured he was asking if he wanted something to eat. "Chocolate is better." Then he saw that Flip had walked to the stereo and realized that he was referring to the group. "Oh they're okay."  
Freddie turned to Side One of Vanilla Fudge's self-titled album. He then walked to the refrigerator as pounding and threatening psychedelic rock filled the apartment.

He poured himself a drink of scotch then held up an empty glass. "Want a drink?"  
Freddie hesitated but Flip spoke again with that sinister voice. "The answer will always be yes."  
"Yes," Freddie answered. Flip poured him a drink and Freddie nervously accepted. The scotch felt like fire and something else that he couldn't name. Freddie swooned.  
"Sit yourself down kid," Flip invited patting the round bed. Freddie sat on the bed feeling his head pounding to the music. He barely noticed Flip open a drawer and pull out a board game. "So how good are you in chess?"  
"I'm the best," Freddie bragged.  
"Well let's see then," Flip waved at the board.  
"How good are you?" Freddie asked.  
"I taught Bobby Fischer everything he knows," Flip said. Freddie's sardonic smirk revealed that he didn't believe a word of it. "Okay not really. But I have won a few games here and there. Let's see what you got."  
Freddie sat down across from the procurer. "What are we playing for?"  
Flip placed his hand on his chin. "Let's see if I win, I do whatever I want to you. If you win, you get to leave."  
Freddie had no doubt what Flip had in mind. He took another drink of the scotch even though he felt dizzy. "Deal," he said.  
"Let's begin," Flip said as he moved a black pawn.

They played five games of speed chess, with Freddie winning the best of three. Flip lowered the white king in the symbolic gesture of defeat. "Not bad, Brain you are good, even with the Ludes."  
"Thanks," Freddie said. He felt dizzy and slow from the scotch and the quaaludes. The incense and the music made him uncomfortable. He longed to get out of there. He was about to walk to the door as the album shifted over to the pounding drums, guitar, and keyboards for the beginning of "You Keep Me Hangin' On."  
"Where you going?" Flip asked as he blocked Freddie's exit.  
"You said if I win I could leave," Freddie said.  
"Yes, you can leave after we are done," Flip said putting his hands on Freddie's chest and unbuttoning his shirt. "You see one thing you need to know, Brain. I hate to lose. The other thing is in this business, your body belongs to whoever's using it. That means you do whatever they say. You don't fight them, you don't push yourself off, you don't scream rape because no one would listen or care. That means your body is mine so get your ass on that bed."

Freddie crept to the bed as on the record Mark Stein began his slow mournful vocals: "Set me free why don't cha babe/Get out my life why don't cha babe?/'Cause you don't really love me/You just keep me hangin' on.." Flip undid the 15 year old's pants and underwear and mounted him.  
Freddie never felt so humiliated and tortured. It wasn't having sex with a man even an older one that bothered him. He had secret fantasies for men and women. It was the way Flip overpowered him. He was rough with him, taking pleasure every time Freddie screamed or cried out in pain. That was before Flip took out the whip.  
Flip clearly delighted watching Freddie suffer and didn't stop until he was satisfied. As "You Keep Me Hangin' On" faded out into the next song. Flip stood up and left the bed giving a sadistic grin proud of his work.  
Freddie sank down from the bed. The pawn, the virgin, was sacrificed."You're in, Brain," Flip said nonchalantly as though he were ordering coffee. He handed Freddie the White King from his chess set. "Keep this, you earned it."

Freddie somehow found the strength to get dressed and leave the apartment. He no sooner left than he vomited onto the sidewalk. He tried to get that experience out of his mind, but he couldn't. Flip had him and now he owned him.  
He wandered back to the fire where the other three were waiting. To their credit, no one asked him how it went. Freddie's stone cold and far off expression was enough. Tic stood up and motioned for the others to follow. "Come on," he said. "Lady and I gotta get ready and you got to see 313."  
"313?" Freddie asked.

Freddie followed the other kids to a junkyard and to an abandoned trashed school bus. Freddie read the number, 313. "It's where we chill between jobs," Lady said. Tic opened the door and invited Freddie to follow them inside. Blankets, empty food packages, and other items were strewn about. Freddie sat down on an empty seat and glanced at the pictures of various film and stage stars like Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Julie Christie, Warren Beatty, Ali McGraw, Steve McQueen, Anne Bancroft, Liza Minnelli, Gwen Verdon, Barbra Streisand, even some older ones like Rita Hayworth, Bette Davis, Cary Grant, Gary Cooper, Marilyn Monroe, and Humphrey Bogart.  
"What's with the pictures?" Freddie asked.  
"We share nearly everything, blankets, food, money, drinks, drugs but we are allowed a few things that are just ours," Lady explained. She held up a compact mirror and put some lipstick on. "You got mascara doll?" She asked Kitten who obliged. Lady nodded at the pictures. "Anyway, these are mine. Because, I'm gonna be a star someday and they remind me."  
Freddie had to admit that Lady was good looking enough to be one.  
Kitten showed Freddie her makeshift bed and pointed out a stuffed cat, dog, and teddy bear. She hugged the teddy bear. "These are mine because they remind me that I am not alone and have my friends to comfort me just like I did when I was a little kid."  
"Cute," Freddie said.

Tic knelt down by a rosary and a picture of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus. He was in prayer, but then crossed himself and stood. "About ready to go?" He asked Lady. She nodded. He turned to Freddie. "We were talking about personal items." He pointed at the altar. "That reminds me that someone out there cares."  
Freddie looked from Kitten to Tic. "So you both talk to imaginary friends," he quipped.  
Lady laughed. Kitten gave a thin grimace clearly disagreeing but not saying anything. Tic glared. "Not much a believer?"  
"Haven't seen much evidence and I don't see much reason to," Freddie said.  
"Well I do because it gives me hope that there is a higher power watching us."  
"You aren't going to lecture me are you?" Freddie sneered.  
"Respect me and I respect you," Tic said.  
"Done," Freddie agreed.  
"What's your personal item?" Kitten asked.  
Freddie was about to remark that he didn't have one, when he felt the white king in his pocket. He held it out. "This," he said. "It reminds me that I will get out and I will win."  
"You're about as determined as I am," Lady said. She nodded at Tic. "Come on we gotta go."  
"Producer?" Tic asked dryly.  
"Friend of one," Lady answered as they left. Before they did, Tic motioned to Kitten. "Give him some H. He's gonna need it." Kitten nodded.

Freddie wasn't paying attention. Instead he sat on the bus seat trying to make himself invisible. He rocked himself back and forth trying to force the memory of Flip assaulting him out of his mind, but it remained. Now, he was going to have to do that every night with anybody. He felt sick.  
Kitten tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a rubber band and a needle with white powder inside.  
"You look like you need this," she said.  
Freddie looked at it closely. "Is this heroin? Why do I need it?"  
"It will help you forget," she said sadly. She might have appeared younger than Freddie but right then she seemed ancient. "Sometimes it's the only way you can forget."  
"What's it feel like?" Freddie asked.  
"Like you're sailing away to Dreamland where nothing can hurt you," Kitten retained her childlike demeanor.  
Freddie did want to block out the memory of Flip all over him. He accepted the needle and pulled up his sleeve. He wrapped the rubber band around his forearm like Kitten showed him. When he saw a vein, he injected the needle inside. He drew back as the euphoria overwhelmed him. He felt relaxed and lay back on the bus seat. Right at that moment nothing bothered him, the cold, the hunger, the homelessness, his sexual encounter with Flip, nothing.  
As he closed his eyes and collapsed on the bus, his mind focused on the only thing that gave him comfort: a board with several black and white squares and 32 black and white pieces. In his mind, they were life size and they gave him a sense of triumph.

Freddie returned to the present and fumbled in his drawer. He took out a white king piece, dirtier and more scuffed than the others and not in use. It was best hidden in a drawer just like the deeds Freddie did when he got it. 22 years and those memories still hurt. "I got out and I won." He said with relief.

Freddie walked back into the kitchen to pour himself another drink when the knock on the door made him jump with surprise. He warily peered through the peephole and saw Father Dominic Luna on the other side. He opened the door a crack still keeping the chain on the door. "How did you know where I lived?" He asked.  
"The moving van outside," Dominic nodded at the street door.  
Oh! Freddie's suspicions evaporated remembering the van left earlier in the evening. The former prostitute turned priest looked uncertain and serious like he was about to share bad news, but didn't know how to say it. "We need to talk. "  
Freddie sighed and undid the lock inviting him inside. "What?" He asked.  
"Where's Gene?" Dominic asked.  
"In his room," Freddie said. "You want I should get him?"  
He was about to turn to the boy's room when Dominic held him back. "No I just want to talk to you."  
Freddie was intrigued. "Okay have a seat."

Dominic sat on the chair holding his fingers together in a pyramid formation. "Listen, Freddie, I don't want to have to call the police and if you tell me the truth I will believe you but I want you to think about the damage that you are doing to that boy-"  
"Huh?" Freddie was confused then he got it. "Oh it's not like that."  
"He said you're not his father. When you were the younger party, you hated it. I thought you didn't want to be a man like that."  
"I still don't," Freddie said. "I'm not! He's not a chicken, Dominic! He's adopted. His parents died a few months ago. I've been raising him on my own ever since."  
Dominic sighed with relief. "I hoped it was something like that. I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions. I wanted to hear it from you or him, before I reported something that I wasn't sure about."  
Freddie shrugged. "It's okay, I probably thought the same thing. I mean you're a priest after all."  
"One who doesn't want to do to any young person what was done to me. I had my fill of sex when I was younger, now I am just not interested," Dominic answered. "I prefer to keep my interests in a more spiritual and meditative direction."  
"Mine's more intellectual, but I know what you mean," Freddie said.  
"I take it he doesn't know anything about your former life," Dominic guessed.  
Freddie shook his head. "No one does, not even the press or his folks and they were my friends. Does anyone know about you?"  
"My parishioners know I had a troubled past and was in prison but they don't know the exact details," Dominic said. "I suppose certain things are considered unforgivable even if you were too young or too poor to do anything different. I trust you won't tell anyone?"  
Freddie smirked. "Oh yeah you see me and The Pope used to be like that until I gave an interview where I said God doesn't exist now John Paul and I don't talk anymore." Dominic gave a thin amused smile as Freddie said seriously. "Not if you don't."  
"Deal," Dominic said.

"Want a drink?" Freddie asked holding up a whiskey. "Are priests even allowed to drink on duty?"  
"I'll have some water," Dominic said. Freddie pulled a bottled water out from the fridge and poured it into a glass? He then handed it to him.  
"So you ever hear from the rest of the gang?" Freddie asked. "I mean we know what happened to Kitten."  
They both lowered their heads in silence before Dominic spoke. "Lady was arrested the same time I was. She got out too and I ran into her a few times on street corners or soup kitchens, but she wasn't the same. She was dead inside. I tried to help her, but she refused. The last time I saw her was six years ago dying in an AIDS hospice center."  
Freddie lowered his head remembering that beautiful but tough woman who thought of prostitution as a mere stepping stone to becoming a Broadway or film star, the star that she never got to be. "God dammit!" Freddie swore. "Poor Lady."  
"Her real name was Adelaide Goldblum," Dominic said.  
Despite the sadness, Freddie couldn't resist a laugh. "Get out! That sounds like someone's grandma! No wonder she liked Lady." He managed a slight laugh. "How about Flip?"  
"He got arrested too," Dominic said. "But apparently his family bought him a light sentence. Last I heard he was in the military."  
"I feel sorry for anyone who serves under him," Freddie grimaced. "So no Kitten, no Lady, no Flip. Just you and me left, huh."  
"I heard about your um breakdown," Dominic said. "I'm truly sorry."  
"What's done is done," Freddie said. "My career is over no use crying about it."  
Dominic nodded. "I meant what I said, Freddie. I'm sure you are under a lot of stress right now and I am here if you ever need to talk."  
"As a priest?" Freddie asked.  
"As a friend," Dominic said.  
"Thanks but the only friends that I ever had are dead," Freddie said. "The only thing I have left is that kid."  
"That's when you need someone the most," Dominic said. He rose. "I better go, but I will pray for you both."  
"As long as it's to yourself, but thanks," Freddie said. He saw Dominic out and locked the door behind him.

Freddie walked into Gene's room. The boy had fallen asleep. His head rested on his desk over his notebook. Freddie slowly pulled the notebook from underneath the sleeping boy. Gene,had neat handwriting, a lot like his mother's.  
Gene wrote the opening paragraphs describing his parents Anatoly Sergievsky and Florence Vassey and how their strength, endurance,,and love helped make him who he was. Pleased that Gene took his advice, Freddie laid the notebook down and helped the kid rise from the desk chair and stand. Gene shifted a, little,but Freddie shushed him and helped him lay down in bed, so he could be more comfortable.  
As Freddie sat over his sleeping godson, he recalled his own days of homelessness, prostitution, and struggles. 12 when his father left. 15 when he ran away and became a prostitute. Gene needed to be a better person than him. Freddie unlaced the boy's shoes and lay them on the floor.  
Freddie looked at the sleeping 11 year old and vowed that no matter what it took, Gene would not suffer like he did. He would get in the Academy and go onto college. He would show his intelligence to the world and be admired for it, not despised. He would have the opportunities that Freddie never got and wouldn't lose himself to drugs, greed, sex, madness, fair weather friends who stole from and controlled him, and paranoia. He would be better, healthier, stronger, and happier than Freddie was. Freddie would be by his side to make it happen.  
"I will never let anyone hurt my boy," Freddie whispered. "I won't let you turn into me."

Author's Notes  
The photo in the newspaper of Freddie, Florence, and Anatoly during the chess match is similar to the promotional photo of Phillip Casnoff, Judy Kuhn, and David Carroll which you can see the image of in my FF.Net version  
There's a bit of artistic license in that The Academy that branched off from Erasmus did not open in reality until the 2000's. I felt that Freddie would want to push Gene into going into a college preparatory school and the irony of it being his former school was too good to pass up. (I also don't know what the application process is like.)  
I watched the Bobby Fischer Against the World documentary and Dr. Tony Grande's Youtube video on Fischer's mental health. I decided to show a bit of Freddie's paranoia and delusions more because of that.  
I read a lot of articles and information on underage prostitution in New York in the 1970's and the lives of street kids in general to get the feel for the flashbacks. Many of the details such as street kids forming small gangs to protect each other, creating street names rather than using real ones, and keeping small personal items for themselves are based on real anecdotes. Also another inspiration for Freddie's time on the streets were the songs "Someday I'll Be Saturday Night" by Bon Jovi and "Children of the Night" by Richard Marx.  
Though I have never seen the movie, Kitten's appearance is based on Jodie Foster's in Taxi Driver. Also unlike the others her real name is never revealed in the context of the fic, but it's Amanda Schaefer.  
I was inspired by the movie Once Upon a Time In Hollywood to include the Vanilla Fudge version of Keep Me Hangin' On in the scene where Flip assaults Freddie. It's a perfect song because it cements their relationship throughout the fic as Flip is using Freddie and continues to do so.


End file.
